The big wheel turns
grinding to be sure, but certain slow,
we don’t need reminding
we all know,
it regulates the rhythms and the seasons of our lives,
we feel its ticking heart, in everything we do
a constant subtle changing
gently rearranging as the year is running through,
no drama
no three act play
no dying of the light
no endless darkened days
not yet,
oh it will come, for come it must
but just for now it’s hazlenuts and
mellow rays of sun through patchwork trees
a chill of revolution
and the hint of something burning
slowly fading on the breeze