“The Whisper Between Seasons”

The air turns softer - not with heat,
but with the hush of things complete.
Leaves release their summer hold,
and fall like prayers, both young and old.

The sun withdraws its golden reign,
and dusk arrives through amber rain.
Each shadow bends, each color fades,
to weave a dream the twilight made.

The fields are hushed, the rivers slow,
their songs are softer, faint, and low.
The wind turns pages through the trees,
as autumn hums in minor keys.

The earth exhales - a whispered sigh,
as geese trace letters in the sky.
Their echoes fade through drifting light,
a promise stitched into the night.

The heart takes cue from leaf and stone,
to find its stillness, not its throne.
For peace is not the end of days,
but found within the in-between’s haze.

So when you feel the year grow dim,
and edges blur at daylight’s rim,
remember change is love’s design;
a slow surrender, soft, divine.

And even when the cold winds call,
the soul still blooms beneath it all.