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.