The Bittersweet Season

The Bittersweet Season

Kathleen McNamara


Such a glorious October day!
The hills are dressed in shades of fire and gold and rust.
Stately maples, oaks and hemlocks preen and sway in the winds,
the sunlight showcasing their finery.

So many people walking the leafy carpet today,
reveling in the majesty of Mother Nature
and this spectacular riot of color.

The winds stiffen and I pull my cloak tighter to me.
I watch with heavy heart as a few more leaves drift slowly down,
a few more kaleidoscope pieces for the forest floor.
I hear the faint whispers of Winter in the air.

Soon the tourists will be gone,
so too this autumn glory.

The trees will be naked, shivering in the chill north winds.
Their bare branches reaching towards the fading sun
praying for one more day of splendor,
while their remaining leaves drip like tears to the ground.

Those of us who call the hills our home will bear witness
to the last gasp of the season.
But through the ice and gray of winter
it will be the memory of Autumn’s final blaze of glory
that will warm my soul.

Under a blanket of white, the trees will slumber,
and I, under one of eider.
We will awaken renewed in the spring
and flourish under the summer sun.
All in anticipation of another bittersweet season,
and a stroll down the Crimson Path.

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