At the least desirable moment, the worst possible time, the temperature begins to fall. Summer will end and make the world feel suddenly more volatile. The peaceful break once filled with hope for all things joyful becomes an aching descent into chill and decay.
Everything will soon slow into inaction so the earth can sleep and rejuvenate in winter’s incubation.
High above, arcuates etched in the sky signal migration’s inevitable change of season. Such distant sentinels mark the finality of my dread, as avian abandon means time is ticking.
Leaves soon fall and quickly morph into a dying landscape.