Somewhere between sorrow and serenity
I sit in the orange glow of dusk, feeling old,
Appreciating the peace of things passing
As Autumn turns greens into golds.
My garden has become a graveyard,
Home to the skeletons of the harvests.
My wine cellar is full of jam jars and cobwebs.
Pumpkins and potatoes rest in their nests.
The nights get longer and the wind picks up pace.
The warm breath turns white as it leaves the body.
The logs creak and sigh in the old stone fireplace.
The scent of decay mingles with the woodsmoke.
Before the spring greens and birds return
I will be resting too deeply to hear their songs.
I hope the grave I leave behind will be a garden
Year-round, full of flowers and friendly farewells.