Autumn is the time of slow turning toward the season of death.  The dying days of glorious summer and the approaching days of lonely winter.  It is a time of passage from one extreme to the other - full bloom to empty gloom.  Inevitable and irresistible.  And yet, the earth blazes with color in nature's throes of longing desire for what was.

The pall on winter hangs in the air, as nature shows its gall, its deep bitterness and resentment, by draping itself in its shawls of colors, a last act of defiance as if refusing to "go gentle into that goodnight."

It is emblematic of the end of summer romance, when the full realization of what once was becomes an understanding of what now is, our fall from grace, our fall to earth, our fall of aspiration that once soared tall.  Fall is all - all there is, all that is left, all that it must be.

Fall is All

Fall is all and autumn's shawl

Of red and gold disguise the pall

Ere winter winds come to call

Shadows fall and time will crawl

Harvest my thoughts, gather them all

As memories strain just to recall

 

But memories sharpen as I think of you

Your words, they echo down my empty hall

I fell in fall, not knowing what to do

Our season passed us by and fall is all

 

Nature's gall, stretched far and tall

Of red and gold disguise the pall

The sin of pride betrays the fall

 

Fall is all I have left of you...

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