The Winds Have Shifted

The geese have been gone for three weeks now,

Flying south on the same wind that stripped the trees of their crunchy brown leaves.

The winds have shifted.

The hillsides around me, ablaze with orange and yellow just a few short weeks ago,

Now brown and barren, trees reaching from the ground like hands reaching for the sun.

The winds have shifted.

Gone is the warm, sunny-day autumn breeze, riding winds out of the south.

Now, cold, strong winds from the northwest bring a silver chill over the land.

The winds have shifted.

The winds gather up the cold as they roll across the harvested cornfields,

Covered from the first big snow that fell last eve.

The winds have shifted.

The dandelion fluff, that danced among the breeze, has taken its bow.

Snowflakes now pirouette along the cold, arctic gusts.

The winds have shifted.

Early darkness pushes us inside to warm fireplaces instead of summer evening fires.

We settle in; winter is here for a time.

Until the winds have shifted.

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