The Coming Ending

Greyed cloudscape: Even the leaves have, true to their name, left the Sky. Readying work is done. Flowers, matings, done. Repairs and preparations, all made. The only work remaining is excuses. Exculpations of a worn Self. Rationalizations follow realizations which have long followed idealizations. Winter is coming like a 30 ton steaming locomotive (crazy motive) let loose, downhill, and feeling late to station. I remember, though, that surely as the cowcatcher comes, threateningly racing towards my Now, it carries with it an end of itself a caboose, a Spring. And so, though Winter comes, so too does it's End.