The Certainty of Change

Summer days recede, and creeks run dry,
We know and sense the sure, encroaching chill,
As seasons of our lives still ebb and flow.

Oft silken, wispy webs pervade our morns,
And evenings, gold and crimson, thread our nights,
Summer days recede, and creeks run dry.

Despite oncoming roil of threatening storms,
The red-tailed, circling hawk persists in flight,
Like seasons of our lives that ebb and flow.

The tots ignore and wait for lightning horn,
Their elders let them go, and cloak their fright,
For summer days recede when creeks run dry.

Volcano Pool erupts, young heroes born,
‘Til lifeguard’s whistle clears the playful sight,
While seasons of our lives sure ebb and flow.

This world keeps spinning peaceful, then war-torn,
And darkened skies once more will turn to light,
Still, summers will recede and creeks run dry,
All seasons of our lives must ebb and flow.

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Photo Friday: Cloudy

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