The leaves already are falling,
but I remember only early spring.
Carefree windows flung open
wide, sweet breezes of young
life slipping over unprotected sills.
But it’s autumn now, and I don’t
know where the summer has gone.
The faintest tinge of bitterness,
the unmistakable air of restlessness
stirring the breeze. A season soon to pass.
The forest is dark, crowding in, but the
wind still finds its way, still so restless.
The leaves are falling now,
and I am falling with them.
And in this restless air of change,
I know that I too must change.
I cannot stay much longer.
Where I fall I do not know
—but here I am, falling.
I could no more hold on to this
place than could summer hold on
in this changing world.
This season, now, is all but past.