Welcome to autumn. Despite the continuing hot weather and decidedly “non-autumn” feel to things, the calendar dictates that this is, indeed, the beginning of the fall season.
Every writer knows autumn begins when the stirrings of nature and its changes cause us to write things down. For some, it creates a condition of melancholy; for others a condition of exuberance. Regardless, it provides yet another catalyst for inspiration.
Nobel Prize winner Albert Camus, more often known for melancholy than exuberance, was so moved by an autumn walk through the woods that he wrote “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” And, for Saturday’s Poem, here’s another viewpoint from award-winning writer Judith Viorst.
Summer’s End
One by one the petals drop
There's nothing that can make them stop.
You cannot beg a rose to stay.
Why does it have to be that way?
The butterflies I used to chase
Have gone off to some other place.
I don't know where. I only know
I wish they didn't have to go.
And all the shiny afternoons
So full of birds and big balloons
And ice cream melting in the sun
Are
done.
I do not want them done.
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