It's Autumn Time . . .

Thirsty

By: the iHope Poet

Orange, orange, everywhere. Orange in the blaze of the October sun on my skin, in the striking shade of the fat pumpkin at my side. Orange in the rich folds of the flower petals and the dry crunch of the leaves on the ground.

All around, I see the fire.

The flames of late fall are as brilliant as ever, defined by their distinct colors (of golds, burgundies, indigos and emeralds) and crisp breath; as their cold heat burns away the old news of spring and summer.

While the earth succumbs to the wild dance of Autumn, the cerulean sky watches curiously from above; and the wind tickles it’s unperturbed surface, arousing a keen sense of longing to take part in this marvelous shift of nature. And yet, far aloft, the limits of the ragged blue atmosphere remain, barren of all clouds, which were mercilessly scorched away in the slicing heat of the harvest day.

And so, the exhausted heavens thirst. Not as the flowers do for subtle showers from white, billowy tendrils of cloud. But for the rumbling blacks and grays and ashen haze to come rolling in, and relieve that tension of unfulfilled change in the air; to shock those final traces of life out of the mountains, the trees, and the thin, coarse dirt.

Yes, the sky dreams; it yearns to settle the chills and the sleep, and regrets of lost time, deep into the soil where the roots of all things lie raw and wilted; simply by making it rain.