The Drift of Autumn - a Prose Reflection

I never realize it is time for autumn when reaching August's end.  Yet leaves begin to turn, and there is . . . something . . in the air I can't define, the hidden cue that signals change.  I grow reflective, nostalgic even, and as October comes in its chill splendor of leaf and shadow, sad.  Thoughts of what I have not yet accomplished crowd in and I struggle to keep up with time.  So much to read, so much to write.  So many yearnings to be with family, with friends, with new acquaintances.  The past has a strength that surpasses my own, and finally I give in and do nothing one day but sit and reflect, sit and remember, sit and write.  The season has won me over.  The trees of change have called to me irrevocably.  I drink the filtered light in my thirst for what it is that eludes me. I have become as one with those elements of earth that change yet run a fixed course by an unseen schedule.  Now I reach new energies, new creative outlets, mixing new with old to become Now.