The Season Ages

Amber leaves crunch under my feet, as I walk through the season.

They drift through the air precise and deliberately.

They begin to form mounds and gather in the masses,

Only to be blown away in the end.

The year, she grows older with each season,

And the season grows livelier,

And clandestine in habit it speeds up,

But people are much too busy to notice.

The trees know Autumn and greet her with a fiery display,

Even as their bodies grow stiff and their time dries up.

People aren’t as graceful or astute,

Nor can they tell when one phase is through.

The season will always come to an end.

The weather, the trees, and the people have grown cold.

Yet there is so much beauty in aging,

But people are at war with growing old.