My friends post photographs of
Golden hills and crimson valleys -
The last bright sparks of another year gone by.
Winter coming - but not yet.
Here, the angle of the sun
Foreshadows darker days and rain -
Not color really, but promise of rebirth.
Winter coming - but not yet.
So many stories reach me now
Of distant frail and aging friends -
Whispered ends to bright and brilliant lives well spent.
My turn coming - but not yet.