the wind changes

It starts with the birds-

their songs becoming scarce,

carried away with the bumbling winds.

waves of wings cover the skys

from north to south, the flow of

music going with them.

Next are the leaves-

a dance of dying through the chilled breeze,

brushing across your cheeks like

the harsh wind tears.

A feeling of loss, here.

we wait, every morning.

The flowers begin their rot, and we begin

our annual exercise in white-knuckling

the last remnants of life.

Holding our breath every morning,

until

until.