Autumn is the time...Autumn is the time when summer gives up its mortal struggle to keep winter at bay. During the dwindling days of October the year waits to die like an elderly man alone on the bed in his room at the end of his life. The motivation to live, to resist annihilation with daffodils and cherry blossoms and fresh green shoots of self-expression has dissipated. Gone are the energy and enthusiasm of sunny June days and creative projects. The man, a slightly published author, reflects on how little renown he accumulated during the spring and summer of his life. Books that seemed as promising as heirloom tomato plants in May when first published lie now unread and moldering on the remaindered shelves of his brief growing season. Tilting on its axis into November, death's cold reaches up out of the spent earth shortening the days and the days of his life. No one cares about last August's succulent Bidwell melons he shared with family and neighbors; eaten, enjoyed, and forgotten. Snowflakes whirl out of the ominous bleak clouds heralding the drifts that will erase the garden beds under a cold featureless blanket of depression. The year, like his life, is almost over, and he does not know if he has another year left in him.
Star Man