The Unspoken Shift

The porch swing creaks a lullaby,
still summer's tune, a little frayed.
But the air, it holds a different sigh,
a coolness that wasn't there yesterday.

Remember June, the fireflies ablaze?
Each blinking spark a promise whispered low.
Now crickets chirp in hazy, golden daze,
a slower tempo, a gentler show.

My garden, once a riot of bright bloom,
hangs heavy, petals tinged with brown.
The pumpkins swell, escaping from the gloom
of vines that slowly, silently, lie down.

I pull my cardigan tighter, a familiar ache,
a feeling deep within, I can't quite name.
It's not just cold, it's for goodness sake,
something shifting, a subtle, inner flame.

Grandma's quilt, the one she made with care,
appears from the cedar chest, its scent of time.
A comfort, like a whispered, silent prayer,
a gentle reminder of life's steady climb.

The kids are back in school, their laughter fades,
as buses rumble down the dusty lane.
They chase the future, building barricades
against the quiet that will surely reign.

I watch them go, a bittersweet release,
a letting go, a knowing, deep and true.
Each year they grow, finding their own peace,
and I, I'm changing too.

Remember autumns long ago, so bright?
The vibrant leaves, a tapestry of fire.
We'd rake them up with laughter and delight,
living a moment, fueled by pure desire.

Now, the colors seem a little less intense,
a muted beauty, a softer, gentler grace.
The wind still whispers secrets, recompense
for summer's heat, in this more solemn space.

The apple tree, its branches bowed with fruit,
stands as a witness to the turning year.
Its harvest comes, a silent, sweet pursuit,
of sustenance, dispelling every fear.

I pick an apple, crisp and tart and cold,
the taste of autumn on my waiting tongue.
A story whispered, centuries old,
of cycles ending, and where new life is sprung.

The sun dips low, painting the sky with gold,
a fleeting masterpiece, a moment caught.
Another day surrendered, a story told,
of lessons learned, and battles bravely fought.

I sit here watching, as the darkness falls,
the porch swing silent, the crickets' song.
A quiet acceptance, answering nature's calls,
knowing that winter's coming, before too long.

And in that stillness, I find a certain grace,
a comfort in the rhythms, old and deep.
For even in the fading, I can trace,
a promise whispered, secrets I will keep.

The unspoken shift, a change within my soul,
reflecting seasons, as they come and go.
A quiet understanding, making me whole,
as life's gentle river continues to flow.