Sometimes I Think I Feel The Chill of Winter Closing In...(or, To Autumn-agers)

 

Life is a frost-kissed autumn mist that drapes dawn’s countryside

Where even the most common frond, yielded to seasoned lease 

Beneath the brush of Mercy’s bond, becomes a masterpiece 

Sometimes I think I feel the chill of winter closing in

I sense its restless presence pressing underneath my skin 

And in my bones its somber tones with aches and pains confirms 

Though we may balk no one can sweettalk time out of its terms 

The composition of a year gathers up days to weeks 

Where moment-storms appear then melt like snowflakes on our cheeks 

Thus, soon four season’s worth of mirth-and-misery-veneer 

Rush through our reach like waves that wash the beach and disappear 

Sometimes the mind can run wild with what-ifs army of fear 

But just as it has always been, worry wastes now and here 

Better to trust the Hand that grants Today’s clock-salary 

Rather than borrow from a morrow that may never be 

Sometimes I sense an intense, soundless changing of the guard 

Youth’s castle of dreams seems like a picture on a postcard 

Where time, with no regard for hearts and swinging season-doors 

Draws springtime’s blushing dancers across star-glossed ballroom floors 

Somehow autumn swept in while I was lost in summer’s charm 

A cooler Casanova gripped my half-reluctant arm 

And drew me into rhythms of a stunning serenade 

That I could not envision while more rousing numbers played 

Ah, I cannot afford to dread, ahead of time, The Thing 

That sometimes looms like winter in my envelope of skin 

Where three-score years and ten (or four) are not a guarantee 

And all I know for sure is Time’s Giver is trustworthy 

Then this assurance is enough to weather and endure 

Whatever love may ask of us, He holds our molds secure 

As numbered days are lent and spent and season-tides cajole 

And dash form’s filament till all is winnowed but the soul 

So then, if I am wise, I fix my eyes past what I see 

The body is a carriage bearing immortality 

And though, sometimes I dread the chill of winter’s willingness 

Tis but the prelude to fulfillment of hope’s happiness 

How dismal to be tangled in a web of fickle pride 

Life is a frost-kissed autumn mist that drapes dawn’s countryside 

Where even the most common frond, yielded to seasoned lease 

Beneath the brush of Mercy’s bond, becomes a masterpiece 

© Janet Martin

Psalm 90:10

 New International Version

Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; 

yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, 

for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

New King James Version
The days of our lives are seventy years;

 And if by reason of strength they are eighty years, 

Yet their boast is only labor and sorrow; 

For it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

King James Bible
The days of our years are threescore years and ten;

 and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, 

yet is their strength labour and sorrow; 

for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

(to think I used to think being a grandma must be a depressing age😍)

Autumn is beautiful!

Whatever the blessings that compose its beauty, thank-you God!

(I wanted to hold grand-daughter's hand too but there was too much to explore to stand still!)

Somehow autumn swept in while I was lost in summer’s charm 

A cooler Casanova gripped my half-reluctant arm 

And drew me into rhythms of a stunning serenade 

That I could not envision while more rousing numbers played