SEASONS WHIMSY

The morning mist is floating
Over the surface of the
deserted silvered lake.
A lonely heron skims over
the lakes silent still waters

late summer dew collects
upon the tired maple leaves.
Quietly awaiting
the winds of autumn.
To Initiate their annual
vermilion metamorphosis..

Gentle mist of fog
rise from the
warm lake waters.
drifting in spirals
slowly skywards.
Like souls in grace
returning to heaven.

All over the Woodlands
are autumns chilling signals
And my soul is mourning
the last breaths
of a dying summer