The season’s haughty train
Trails behind, decadent,
Pretending.
Unrelenting trials
Have gone by and
Are now most mercifully
Ending.
The jaundiced jewel fixed
At noon's height had
Shown its light too glaring,
Its blinding core
Creating warmth too wearing.
That languorous season,
An oppressive array,
Which over-weights our shape;
We were low and bowing but
With no trace of fealty, no
Chance of escape.

Long
Have these searing hours
Draped us in a sweaty quilt.
Time like a heavy cloak,
Days like the burden of guilt.
Summer’s scorn spit out as
Stabbing taunts and a
Savage lash of indictment.
We were exposed to its unblinking,
Unforgiving regard,
Its cruel cast
Driving all to mad
Incitement.

Now, slowly…
How silently,
So kindly,
The atmosphere shifts,
Swirling the lightness
Of graceful leaves,
Blending into a lifting wave
With soft whispers of a new day.
The night clears to hear our
Secluded prayers, spoken in shade.
Sleep drifts ghostly,
Our drunken slumber, in
Chambers blackened.
But the sober morning
Welcomes us calmly,
Quietly, like a forgiving friend.

Suddenly, a gracious change brings
The soul’s cool rebirth!
The dome above us
Deepens its complexion, from
Raging red to azure mirth;
The choking white smoke,
A miasma of grim gas,
Melts away and
Yields to cheering
Hearth fires!
Sparks stirring ambient hopes
Of familial bonds.
Familiar sensations fill
The empty places with
The forgotten mists of home!

A fleeting presence draws near,
Extending an invitation to a peace
That is eternal, and
Offered forever freely:
Dreams and revelations awaken --
Recalled as a mother’s love,
Or a child’s laughter, pealing!  
This refreshing phase brings
Enchantment in thoughts of home;
The source of all our growing,
With often vexed comings and goings.
A place I left so long ago,
So far out of the
Reach of my heart, still roaming.

Sage, solemn autumn,
That itinerant interval,
Arrives
As a pilgrim, bearing simple treasures;
Tokens to trade from our past
We feared were sure sorely lost –
Nevermore to be embraced.

With this goodly turn of fate,
Many precious things
Are gladly recovered,
Given with warm hands, lifted
Up in a seasonal thanks.
With autumn spirits
Wafting up,
Swirling around our hearts,
Eternal,
To the chilled, open sky.