When Autumn Whispers
The light, like golden thread,
spills softly through the whispering trees,
as day begins its gentle tread
toward hush and hearth and twilight’s ease.
A chill now curls along the air,
its breath both crisp and kind,
while wisps of cloud go drifting where
the skies wear blue like silk unlined.
The fields are bowed with harvest’s grace,
their work at last complete—
and in our hearts, a longing wakes
for quiet paths and softened feet.
For Autumn, robed in rust and gold,
comes winding through the wood,
with stories slow and fireside-old,
and dreams of rest and all things good.
She calls us now to lay things down,
to breathe, to simply be,
to trade the haste of summer’s crown
for stillness deep as sea.
🍂