Equinox

 

The sun tilts her face away from a final summer sunset, to set us solstice bound.

Now to be wrapped in misty morning meadow wraiths and trees gently weeping crisp golden tears.

Woodsmoke scented evenings and home to apple crumbles with cinnamon spice. 

Of early dusks with robins tuning up for the battle of the song and lonesome chink’s of a blackbird.

It’s nature throwing a shawl woven from summers bounty around your shoulders, to guide and hold you tight throughout winters dark.