Summer's Almost Gone

I saw a small tree this morning, no larger than a bureau, consumed by the cold flame of fall. A dozen desiccated leaves clung timidly to the tips of its lissome limbs. Little colored hands tender and trembling, hung from branches like gallows. Their fragility cried out, crunching under the weight of my gaze. Lurid leaves, agued and luckless, awaiting the cold steel of the current's sharpened scythe. 

I wondered what it is about precariousness that stirs my foolish blood. Perhaps it is that we too are phantoms - as transient and ephemeral as falling leaves - at the mercy of the reaping wind. Beholding a creature drained of all virility, its puissance ransacked, serves as a reminder, or rather, a reflection; the smell of oblivion blown on the breeze. 

Winter is coming. Slowly sweeping away the length of summer's shade. A season best suited for lovers, the heat of their hearts' affection enough to keep them warm. 

Spent alone, one can hardly shake the chill.

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"Summer's almost gone

Summer's almost gone
Almost gone
Yeah, it's almost gone
Where will we be
When the summer's gone?

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swam the Laughing sea
When summer's gone
Where will we be
Where will we be
Where will we be

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swam the Laughing sea
When summer's gone
Where will we be

Summer's almost gone
Summer's almost gone
We had some good times
But they're gone
The winter's comin' on
Summer's almost gone"

Summer's Almost Gone - The Doors