Spring is a new baby born, a smile on his face;
Summer is a carefree child, picking flowers blue and green,
And autumn? She's an Irish lass, looking out across the sea.
(c) Elizabeth Rose 2011
Autumn, you're here. And in your travel-worn bags you brought colorful leaves, hot tea, warm fuzzy sweaters, crisp air, brilliantly blue skies, and gorgeous photographic opportunities. (Now if only you would hurry up and unpack those bags that you normally leave sitting around until late October, you'd have my everlasting thanks. :P) The traitor who calls himself Summer has departed, but I need not weep for him any longer. For Autumn, if the truth be told, you and Spring are tied for my favorite season. Spring brings new life, warm breezes, lovely blossoms--what's not to love? But Autumn, I cannot help but also notice your fiery passion. You will not relinquish yourself to Winter without a fight, and I love you for it. Cerulean sky that puts even Summer to shame; leaves that burst into rich hues as they fall to their deaths; everything about you is ardent and heartfelt.
The end is inevitable, and you know you will lose to Winter eventually. But that never causes you to be apathetic. And I know that even though you have lost the battle, you will not lose the war, for every year you return. Winter cannot steal your spirit.
Autumn, please stay as long as you like.
"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens."