THE SENTIENT SEASON

In slumber I was but now am waking,
stirring again as I have always done.
I lift my head slowly, aware of the life awakening in me
and shake my tousled bronze gold hair.

With rebirth comes rememberance
of all the seasons behind me
I am old and yet am young again
New stength coursing through me like fire.

I stride amongst the trees,
the wind whipping around me, and I laugh.
Leaves color and fall as I pass
swirling around as they are caught by the playful gusts.

My fragrance is of decay, sweet and cloying
permeating into the earth around me.
My raiment is bark like, russet colored
wrapping me  close like an enfolding cloak.

Stark trees are my sentienels,
bare and skeletal in the fading light.
Fierce coldness trailing from my fingertips
Curling around me, leaving frost in my wake.

Life pulses  with in me, but is subdued
my season one of  changing and ending.
I am the precursor of my pale brother and I lay the path
for his renewal, my hand outstretched for him to take.

I hold sway here for such a little time
and I grieve that my creations will not continue,
but I know I will feel my power wain
and grudgingly will I submit to the will of time.

I lie amongst the dry , brown leaves
and gaze into a snow heavy sky.
It is over now , my work completed,
and I must sleep once more.


The endless cycle begins anew
I close my eyes and relinquish my burdens
to another who will bear them for me
until I wake again into the turning of the year.

Athena Beauchamp