The Unknown

A dark, still morning

At the end of August.

What does it portend?

Not one bird shrieks for a mate or calls to the sky.

So busy at their nests, getting their chicks ready to fledge.

They perch on the edges of their nests

Flapping their wings as hard as they can

Yearning to soar across the landscapt to meet their wintry futures.

What does it portend?

For them, for me, for all of us.

Change is coming - how cold will it be?

How much snow, how much freezing rain?

Will change move quickly or will it linger?

Wearing the veil of a reluctant bride, she moves slowly down the aisle

To meet her unknown frigid fate on a dark, still morning at the end of August.