Season's Passing
	Through dense, dawn-steeped fog Ghostly winged shapes did bring Clean, sharp bugles shattering The quiet, placid morning. First one, then two, Now a multitude Fleeing from cold places far. Their shapes more sound than essence Scarce visible above the trees. Their haunting melody o’erhead Echoed on earth below The wild Canada Geese fly low On their journey mysterious When leaves are touching Barely scarlet. Their message pierced the misty air That their calling voices had rent Brought on their disquieting sibilance Summer is spent! Falling on ears that cringe because Ahead lie dark days of winter's silence Bringing ice and cold and snow. And a knowing that nothing is permanent. C.J.T. 9/9/06