Early sunsets, warm tea, big sweaters and long lazy nights. With the world under the brumous cover of mother nature, chilly cold winds knock your door. Mystique is what this season is. But is that all? This is how the indescribable is described? The hot chocolate weather has got more to it than you can think.
The mighty sun, dimmed it’s glow,
Held hostage as it was by the greying wisps,
To the boreads pleasure;
As they raced across the dark and forlorn skies.
Sending shivers down the spine of earth. The streets normally bustling with life,
Are now less and less frequented,
And those who still visit,
Locomote with none of their usual vigour.
It is like time itself has gone drowsy.
Caressed into it by the lullabies of cold.
Sung by the spirits of the wind. The green plays turncoat,
As the leaves born of rain shrivel, in a carnival of rust,
No more the shade, the chirping birds,
Instead, just corpses of wood standing upright,
Defiant against necrosis. In the darkness surrounding you’ll find,
Lights of rebellion,
Ignited to keep life from fleeing,
Away from the mortal body.
Gathered around these flames they’ll speak,
Stories of the seasons they survived.
And for once, you’ll notice,
The twinkle of resilience in their eyes. And hence it has its own positives,
And though a bit forlorn,
It is a tapestry of beauty esoteric.
Which we all appreciate and dread,
And it may hurt and it may bruise,
But maybe it’s just enough of a dose of pain,
Which makes you appreciate life a little more.