Season (guest post)

 It was in the mall first,

 Where it meant next to nothing.

 Just the plyers plying what they could ply,

Selling goods that didn’t match the outside.

But then it was in the light.

 Even in August it was in the light.

 Summer saw it and surrendered almost immediately.

 One summer activity after another had its last

 - the last game, the last cookout, the last holiday -

Until there were no more lasts left.

It was in the trees by early September.

 An easily-overlooked few in the beginning,

 Then more,

 Then all.

 Like a wave the trees rolled.

 Over me they rolled.

 And though I did not roll with them

 I was moved all the same.

Indian Summer, stubborn at the start,

Succumbed quicker than I thought it would.

 I couldn’t stop it,

Couldn’t make it stay,

 Couldn’t deny it was gone,

Couldn’t deny anymore that change was coming,

That change had come.

By the time the farmers brought in their crops,

 It was everywhere.

 Nothing from before remained.

 All was different now.

 All was changed.

 All was autumn.

 And though it’s not winter

 It is heading that way.

- Douglas McCoy