Autumn.

  The change-time.

  The living but dying time

  of fruitfulness

  and listlessness.

  Looking back on

  summer gone

  and spring so far away;

  waiting for

  the cold bones of winter

  to wrap us in its

  fleshless grip.

  This passing

  from now to then;

  from what was

  to what is

  to what will be;

  this unstoppable,

  unending change,

  a ceaseless wonder,

  more than at any other

  time of the year

  sets us in the moment;

  in the now of being;

  in the knowing

  that what we are

  is nothing,

  an instant

  already gone.

  And the relief

  of letting go

  is immense.