Blood red and crimson (5)
Gilt gold curl and falling (7)
A sly wind blowing (5)
A chill wind across blue skies (7)
Wispy clouds scuttle (5)
We bid old friends goodbye (7)
It has been a week of sad news. Friends, robust and living large just memories ago, now lingering or dead. Covid has changed timelines, stretching distances between visits and news from days to weeks to months and even years. The person you remember no longer exists outside your mind.
As the leaves curl, turn brown, and fall, I contemplate the cycle of life and accept that these friends had reached their natural end. Their passings are not tragedies or inexplicable accidents, but the inevitable end of their journeys amongst us. I take comfort in the changing of seasons, knowing that I, too, will join the parade of souls who connect me to the history of humankind.