Winter's Scout

There's a moment where the air starts to crisp.

It's after the mists have risen from saturating the land.

Colour vacations somewhere else,

Whilst the moisture which springs from warm Summer's exit,

Provides a modesty screen,

Behind which a change is taking place.

Look closely and you might see it-

But be prepared to get wet.

*

There's a transition between Summer's brash vibrancy:

From its "in-yer-face-I'm-going-to-make-you-sweat-come-here-sweetheart"-edness

Which ends with the exhausted death cry of leaves, screaming crimson

And arguing orange, searchlight-yellow echoing sunshine at times,

Protesting initially, but then falling, falling, falling -

Twisty turny, floating down.

Before the fall as Fall takes hold

Look from afar if you can for the full effect

For if you go too close, you'll see the scars

From the brown scorches of Autumn's blowtorch,

Leaving patches and spots on the leaves' bright surface

As it ripped through forests and woods and parks

And watched excitedly as nature curled and recoiled, shrinking down

Eventually to vanish.

You can smell Autumn's approach if you sniff hard enough

Once Summer turns its back.

Watch it too in the frenzy of the wasps

As they rave crazedly around Summer's projects

Left, where they lie, left, on the ground,

Wantonly left,

Squelching, supine and still.

*

These are the drinks and hor d'oeuvres before the main event.

The pre-show party vibes of anticipation.

Sky sharpens its blue and maple reddens the carpet

As clouds part, like curtains, and Frost descends.

The mist, once so pervasive, becomes solid sheets,

In an instant,

Crystalline-patterned manifestations materialise

Before our very eyes!

Snap!

The world becomes brittle, edged.

Its delineations are clear, surrounded with white,

The glass dust of ice falling

As Winter rubs it to powder through its slender firm fingers,

And it lands as falling shards of cold confetti

That coat and cluster and crunch.

Winter does not care where it lands

Nor does it care if you deem it treacherous.

It is there to draw out your caution and your care

To poke you and prod you with chilling certainty.

But Winter will admit, darling, it is for show too.

Its brilliance is dazzling, designed to hurt eyes

That can't look away.

Gaze at the intricate patterns it creates:

Skeletal webs etched geometrically - the mark of its art.

Frost is like the Banksy of nature

Appearing suddenly, a graffiti installation to boggle the mind

Which draws wonder and surprise in its randomness.

There is a difference though:

Frost is fleeting,

Winter's scout.

Enjoy its clear cold lens while it lasts

And the steel shine it brings -

Before long it will become smothered too,

Like everything it's touched,

By the full onslaught of Winter's conquest.