Matthew Lyle Landsman

Sunday afternoon…the shadows are growing long. September lingers still with its subtle reminders…and November is about to board at the station of time…Regardless of my wishful thinking, leaves will soon descend and meet me at boot level and give way to the remnants of sunny hours that dwindle as the solstice of winter waits in the wings.
It is a yearly ritual, the dance between nature and I, turning my back to the chilled breeze, my face to the midday sun. Turning my ear to the changing chorus of the winds as the branches empty and the notes of the storms fade from a low moan to an empty sad sigh…
My steps become a bit more urgent, my hands will fill pockets in search of warmth…and dusty gloves will soon be shook free of the warm month’s exile in a coat pocket or seasonal drawer. Longer sleeves soon step back into the fray after months tucked away. And before my breath can be seen in the shade, I will return again to thoughts of friends gathering there around the flames,  around the tables, around the bend where we’ll find each other…hiding behind smiles and handshakes and quiet sighs.
And I will greet the frost with gratitude, with respect and a nod…for it had the strength  to bring the fairer season to her knees, and ushered in the shades of autumn…the passing of days in dwindled hours.
And I will look to you for a warm embrace, a hand to hold, and love the sight of a cold weather tear there in your eyes…and I will tend the fires, in the hearths and hearts…and burn the midnight oils, not in wait of spring and summer, but in gratitude for the one just passed.
I’ll see you in the yard, with a rake there in your hands, and send a wave and knowing smile as we tend to the tasks and glance at the setting sun, and Canada geese on the wing, come home to graze and nest while the darker months pass…Happy autumn friend.

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