I Put The Fan Away For Winter

I put the fan away for winter today.

An early autumn wind
is bending
the roses in the garden
rustling
the ivy on the old flint walls
tossing
the trees

a damp grey sky drizzles on the fading lawn

the dahlias and daisies
that have almost stopped flowering
the wilting nicotiana
that made the summer nights so fragrant
the foxgloves
that have lost their lavender cups.

The giant white blossoms on the magnolia tree are nearly spent
and the pears the starlings are eating off their boughs.

The dampness darkens
rain hits the trees
splashes
drips to the ground
splatters.

The sound seduces me.

Two wrought iron chairs sit empty white and waiting
facing each other over a table at the center of the lawn
waiting for life
for summer’s late light
lunches
laughter
soft sensuous dinners
in the spellbound magic of the garden’s perfumed nights

moody in the mist
now
wet for life.

What was there just yesterday is gone
the stillness
muted air and hushed heat
the intimacy the season fosters with the earth

that spirit that is the living presence of creation
inconsequential shoots that rise from the naked soil
to flourish in abundance and flower in riotous color
tiny toads traversing the forest of grass
blackbirds pulling worms from its roots
butterflies and bees
the radiant cycle
pollination
fertility
metamorphosis
change.

Everything that grows dies.

I put the fan away for winter today.