Wistful leaves turn colors as the winters setting suns dimming light encroaches

Winds of change filter through the golden wheat's grain.

The flutter of chaffs against my hands pleads for the harvest that approaches.

Passion pulses the flight of a butterfly pursuing the memories that remain.

From the moment the seed is cast upon the soil, the moods of the weather affect how the tender plant has grown.

The blink of an eye fans the changes of time from the first warm taste, to the bitter last.

A dawning gaze of green now burns with the golden glow of harvest, ripeness ablaze from the seed that was sown.

How could I know how quickly that today would become the past?

That my memories would now become a harvest of their own.