The Ghosts of Gloom Are Gathering

Winter is coming!

Deep in autumn at Betty Eastwood Park in West Yorkshire, England. ©Josephine Crispin

We can feel them coming, congregating
Crawling, advancing, degree by degree
Shortly, down 10° here and there
Soon, down 20° there and here

Look up to the sky
Turning greyer and greyer
No sunbeam peeping through
No wonky winks of happy blues

Look down on the ground
Turning thicker, more crowded
With golds and reds and browns
Rustling sharply with each step

Look at the balding trees
Exposing their skeletal limbs
But while others are leafless
Some have berries for the birds

Look at rockeries and gardens
Stripped of summer beddings
Struck bald of blooms and buds
No scent wafting for tired bods

Look at the gathering gloom
A way of hibernating, resting
Lying torpid, rallying strength
Nature on its annual meditation