The leaves
seemed to wither and die
slowly this year,
as if the foliage red
sliced its veins and slowly
bled out.
Autumn glows yellow
like a book gradually develops
jaundice and eventually
collapses into dust.

The possibilities
of Summer are gone
and Winter inches her
ice-cold eyes
over the horizon,
turning her gaze inward
as the skies turn gray
and melancholy falls
like a torrent of freezing rain.

I ponder these things
while birds begin their
southern retreat
and night-time darkness
arrives swifly,
equipped with
Orion's Belt as
a holster and
the Crescent Moon as
a revolver.

My feet seem to be frozen
to dawn's frost as it
wraps it's frigid fingers
around my ankles -
shackles fitting for a
prisoner trapped in
the Season's purgatory.