Autumn's Tears

They don't crunch under my feet anymore.

They rustle, whisper reminders of days past,

of eruptions of laughter.

Brown, orange, and yellow

speckling the sky before they settle

as a rug that crackles under my feet.

But as I said, they no longer do

for they are slowly getting muffled

under her crystalline tears.

Oh, how she mourns her end!

Silently, though sometimes,

if you close your eyes

and focus,

you can hear her gasp in between sobs

or sigh when her tears subside

if only for a time.

She hides her sadness under misty covers,

covers that do nothing to comfort her

until she is unsure whether

she is shaking from misery or cold.

Then the mist starts to dissipates,

and then the sun breaks through,

a barely there kind of warmth,

but when it reflects of her frozen tears,

it is radiant and mesmerizing.

Like tiny crystal chandeliers,

little, near invisible rainbows,

the kind you have to squint for,

dance in front of my eyes.

So, yes, I stand here

despite the wet chill seeping into my bones

and take it in,

squinting my eyes to find the beauty in the end.

And I hope she sees it too,

that just like her,

wearing the carcasses of Summer and Spring,

Winter will wear her ending as well as she did.