The Encroachment of Autumn

By Ingrid Anderson

I lay underneath a lush oak tree, admiring its piercingly vibrant green leaves

The sunlight bathes me with joy, and the air smells sweet and crisp

The date is the thirteenth of August

And a smile effortlessly creeps onto my face

I can’t help but feel incandescently happy in this season

Summer gifts me with all I need

I see how plants thrive, people glow, and nature finally breathes

They are untouched by the cruel days of what I know is to come

Change makes me sick

I can feel Summer’s warm embrace fleeting

The once vibrant green leaves now wear a rust colored coat

The air is dry, and the chilly breeze whips my bare skin

The moon rises earlier than it should

I try to reject this encroachment

I wear short sleeves, and I drink lemonade

In a fervent haze, I yearn for Autumn to relinquish her incessant ways

For my life to go back to how it once was

When I was joyous and blissful

When my heart gleamed and the sun kissed my skin

I scrape and claw and chase after August’s sun

But its golden rays slip out of my grasp

I try to lie in pillowy green fields to feel the warm Earth beneath me,

But my hands can’t help but rip at the dead straw that infects the once fertile rolling hills

I bang my fist against all the doors that Autumn slammed shut,

Begging on my hands and knees for the hinges to bend as they used to,

For them to swing open and let in that sweet summer air

But they do not open; not even a crack

I now have to grieve this change that I knew would come all along

Autumn seeps into my life every year, whether I like it or not

When the thick of it arrives

I know I will cry and cry and cry 

The date is October eighteenth

And now that it’s here,

The cool air doesn't sting when it nips at my skin like I thought it would

I wrap myself in a cozy sweater,

Warm my hands with a mug full of a sweet drink,

Take a breath full of brisk air,

And I realize that it doesn’t burn my lungs as it used to

I soon find myself underneath that same oak

The grass may be tan and more brittle than usual,

And the sun may not shine quite as bright,

But as I lay beneath the branches of this tree

The sight above me is painted in the richest warm colors of yellow, orange, and a chocolaty brown

Autumn has shown me her true beauty

I try to paint her in evil, and carve hate into her name

But now that I’ve seen through

I know that she is worthy of my love, too