The Evergreen

When August gives way to September and summer dies in autumn's arms, the water cools.

The air chills. Death comes to visit. It takes first the flowers, the buds and petals, and as their mothers did before them, they wrinkle and wilt. It is only natural. I see this in my friends, in their weary faces. Another week comes and goes, another year. One cannot bloom all of the time, you know. It is only natural.

When September’s golden hair entangles with October’s brown curls, it is time for the leaves to fall. Their death is a performance, a swan’s song, the last little bit of life before the frost. They crinkle and crumple, drained of summer heat and spring rain. It is time for them to take their rest. It is only natural.

And when October’s crimson blood stains the bleak skin of November, it is time for the birds to go. As they leave they call to us, cry their farewells and wish us the best. Do you notice that? The silence of winter and the muffled sound of the snow? No red breasted robin to wake you, no blue jay’s call to welcome you home. The break in the song, in the performance– it is only natural.

And then when November’s footsteps get lost in December’s snow and nothing else is clear in the world, I remain standing. Stark green on slate gray skies. An evergreen, tall and waiting, bright and living. And I must stay; strong and mighty in the darkest hour, to shelter the flowers beneath my bows, hold the birds in my limbs and rock them to sleep. I will stand until the end of time, always on, always working, always carrying and protecting and holding and saving and waiting and waiting from then until next. Never dying, never breaking.

Forever and always.

Ever green.