Dying Autumn
Autumn holds conflict for both of them.
He both dreads and longs for the onset of winter and the reminders of her that suddenly spread everywhere with the ice.
She hates saying goodbye to her annual gorging of the senses, yet feels that she needs the coming year to detoxify herself.
The raucous clash of colours mean very little. It is the natural process – consciously or not, all things yearn for a glorious death. That's all Mother Nature gives.
The first shiver that a cool breeze bears brings the same thought to both: Enough now. It has to stop. Next year it'll be different. Both know it won't be.
Autumn is the death of her feast, and the end of his fast.
