A Warning Called Autumn

The sounds of Autumn's call are the crunching, and the munching, and the crackling, and the snapping, but most of all the silence -- the silence that should be filled with the songs of birds.

Everything departs after they hear Autumns's wintry warning. Birds fly far away to another Summer's warm embrace, as Autumn gives way to her coldhearted sister, Winter. Snakes and bears sleep through this tough time. Plants die or go dormant. Even color vanishes. Any and all life leaves, except me. I am the only one left to see that there is nothing new to look at tomorrow that wasn't there today. No new flowers, no new baby animals, only bare branches hanging stiffly on long dark trees that cast dark silhouettes on the light sky. The sky looks the same allmost every day. There is no blue, only unending gray clouds.

My naked feet feel the frigid earth as I step onto the ground. The bitter breeze collides into me, and my hair blows softly with the wind. The dormant grass scratches the bottom of my feet, as I pull my jacket closer to my body and shiver. I sniffle. The parched air makes my lips go dry, and I involuntarily lick them, just because there is no water here, only cold unforgiving ice.

Whole weeks go by where there is nothing new from nature. There is only one outdoor promise: the could waterless air that arrives by the relentless morning wind. Inside, however, there is evidence of a synthetic warmth, hot soup, sugar cookies, and the unknown meal lurking in the oven, encasing the entire house in it's delicious aroma.

During these months of harsh conditions, I sit inside and stare at the same landscape for days, weeks, maybe months. I yearn for the warm sunshine, and the time when I am once again free from this harsh trap nature has devised. Like a kindergartner waiting for recess, I desperately await the arrival of summer.