A Cold Front Moving In (Poetry)

She walks her autumn garden
aware that winter’s coming
her limbs ache and feel awkward
with their protest like the creak
of sapped-out wood

Youth’s energies depleted
her sun-gold hair has renounced
its once-rich and lustrous look
can’t hide immigrant grey strands
that dull the mix

Her English rose complexion
a cliché powdered over
that fails to fool her mirror
eyes that sparked with love of life
are misted soft

Grown sad and introspective
knowing that the best is gone
a chill wind fluffs the seedheads
scatters them and bears a threat
of what’s to come

Humming quietly to herself
an old springtime song to cheer
a gloomy day — ease the hours
between a dawn that dawdles
to early dusk

Dark arriving far too soon
crafty shadows bide their time
in corners of an orchard
where windfall fruit sink slowly
into tired grass

Dressing now in sombre shades
as camouflage to blend in
with the season’s change of mood
her wardrobe’s pale summer shrouds
hang outmoded

Resignation lines her face
glad of vanity’s deceits
gauzy scarves disguise her skin’s
mottled weather-patterning
she sweeps up leaves