Bittersweet Song
Jim Burns

The light,
the light is different
come this time of year.
Gone the realistic glare,
chased by the brushes
of impressionists,
softened sunbeams
filtered by questions,
uncertainty returns,
a relaxation of spirit
between summer sweat
and winter freeze.
Insects in the trees
fill the air
with the beat of maracas
for those who choose
to dance,
while breezes
that have scorched us
yield a hint of the end
of King Sun’s reign.
Squirrels dart about,
gather nuts,
bears sniff the wind,
prepare lairs,
leaves begin their
peacock display
to distract us
from winter’s cold
hovering near,
or give up and
simply die and fall,
all to the waltz beat
of September’s
bittersweet song.