Falling


He told me he was leaving
And then the rains came.
The leaves fell overnight.
Summer had turned to fall with no warning,
Just as his departing.

Would it have been easier in the spring?
The dead of winter?
Midsummer?
Who knows such things.
Nature would remind me
Whether through empathy or irony.

But time stops for no one.
Not the living, not the dying,
Not the mourning or rejoicing.
The days march on 'til the cold reality of winter sets in,
Followed by the forced cheeriness of spring,
The laziness of summer,
And finally back to here,
To the rain, to the leaves,
To where I stand now.
To the fall.

Back to the beginning.
Or is it the end.