(climate) changing seasons
Days slowly morphing into nights.
Days getting shorter, one minute at a time, one leaf at a time, one cloud at a time.
The air slowly getting crisper & crisper.
A cool sharp gust reddens your cheeks, replacing the gentle caress of a warm breeze.
A single teardrop emerges from your eye
& then another one.
The wind is too harsh for your sensitive eyes;
they still need to adjust to the changing temperatures.
High 80s slowly dropping to low 70s;
soon after, they enter the 60s.
You look out the window & no longer see green leaves.
Instead, you see red, yellow, orange, brown. Faint, but noticeable. You know they’re coming.
One by one, the leaves drop.
Some morph: absorbing, releasing the colors of the sun.
Each day gets cooler,
but the process is slow.
You look around & observe nature taking its time.
There’s no need to rush.
Slowly, you put away your light shirts, your shorts, your sandals.
Slowly, you bring out your sweaters, your scarves, your rain boots.
Iced tea becomes hot.
A mug of coffee becomes hot cocoa.
Salads turn into grain bowls & soups.
The smell of pumpkin & cinnamon & cloves infuses the air.
As soon as the weather starts to dip, you turn your oven on again - perhaps the first time since spring’s first bloom.
Your mouth is already salivating at the thought of warm bread and cinnamon rolls on the table, the intoxicating fumes permeating the air.
This is how we’d like it to be.
This is how it is.
One day, you’re wearing a light jacket & loose pants.
The next, you’re wearing three layers, gloves, a scarf & a hat.
One day, the tree outside your window is still full, green, its trunk still soft & pliable.
The next, the tree is bare, the green is gone; what is left is only a stiff trunk with rigid branches desperately trying not to break.
One day you walk leisurely outside, enjoying the cool but not bone chilling fall air.
The next, you curse under your breath as you stuff your hands down your pockets & your head in your scarf.
No warning. No clue.
Instead of using a ladder, the temperatures jumped straight down.
The fall is steep. Quick & instantaneous.
The air slaps you in the face; you feel the moisture being sucked out of your skin.
Soft skin becomes rough.
Your extremities turn red.
Your heart races as it tries to adjust to
Our new climate.
Which will become just our climate - actually
It already has.
I fear for the seasons, I fear for nature. I fear for myself.
And who says climate change isn’t real?