Autumn, season of dying. (Melancholy)

Autumn,
Season of dying.

Of change.
It’s so beautiful,

Yet a melancholy tune echoes in my ears.

The time of year when the harvest comes,

when you are out partying, wasting food in enormous amounts,

while people starve on the streets.

What a great time to hike,

out in the woods, walking between the sheep walls

and the well a boy died in.

But you ignore it, admire the leaves

and all the death around you.

Watch as the squirrels scurry frantically,

laugh as you almost step on one.

But you do not know the panic in their hearts,

as they collect, look at their children.

You do not know the resignation they feel as they calculate how many meals they’ll skip,

to keep their babies alive.

Autumn, season of dying.

But death often comes at the end of a life,

when one has lived all they can live.

and when they are ready to go, nothing more awaits them here.

Sometimes, autumn is the best season of all.