The stream is dying away, as the water level becomes low and saturates the cold, muddy marsh. Grasses and reeds are now yellowy and crisp, with their seeds just about ready to blow away in the autumnal gust. Trees stand bare, with clusters of green conifers mottling the forest.

The babbling brook, what a transient stream

Flows and takes whatever it feels

Crisp red gems growing out of the thrush

Are now wrinkled beads, ready to drop

Minnows dash and dart

with morbid awareness

The smell of festering lignin arouses my nostrils

as a hidden world is invaded by fungal intruders

As I now can see

that the harvest has come and gone

And those which were once ablaze

are now ashy shambles, littered about

The cold has pierced all and has had it way

For now winter is here, and for long it shall stay

All photos are by the author (Kevin Melman) unless specified otherwise