The mornings have turned cold
The wind bites
The leaves start to drop
And it’s not as hot
As it was yesterday
The summer ends
And a new season begins
One of the repeating patterns of life
A growth
A beauty
And then
A death
Just for it all to happen again
It’s the cycle of life
One that there is no fighting against
A death and a rebirth
An all too familiar story
You’d think
After all this time
We would start to get bored of it
But as the wind hits my cheeks
I am reminded
That it is not boring
Or special
Or majestic
It just is
The rules we have to play by.
-C.H.