Withering Pause

How rich the color was.

How faithful the trust.

Cooler days and frigid nights

Noted time was short.

Spritely shadows of fur

Scampered about,

Checking winter hiding places

For carefully placed nut stash,

While blustery air swirled layers of gold,

Yellow,

And occasional crumbling brown leaves,

As cover.

How intrepid blades were,

Braving the frosted ground,

Knowing a few hours of temperature rising

Would render perhaps the last drink of the season.

As fall would end,

Frigid winter would begin,

And dependable spring

Would always arrive

With daytime warmth of sun,

Nighttime cooled with darkness,

And the next morning’s warmed with the dawn.

Green blades withering,

Unlike the winter blues of many humans,

Cherishes well the thrill of anticipation,

When hibernation of grass returns

With rich green cover

Inviting oohs and aahs

For the well-cared-for blankets of velvety lawn

Awaiting the first of many

Hands lightly caressing the surface

With the sensuous touch of a barber’s

Newly finished brush cut.