The Last Autumn

This autumn is unfolding

As if it's the last one

Regal in its bearing

Since mid-September

It's been a slow roller 

Leisurely building 

To a crescendo of color

Time it seems

No longer concerns us

Now that the shoreline

Of our final destination

 Has heaved into view
Each autumn comes
Tinged with the color
Of it being the last

********

A new autumn but this poem from last year still seems apt.  How slowly the season of our decline is unfolding that it extends from one year to the next.  I'm thinking of renaming it "Ode for the Rentier Class - from Amazon to Goldman Sachs."   If you have a moment take a look at this fine article in the New Statesman about what Fernand Braudel called the signs of autumn - the final phase of a long expansion, inevitably followed by a burst of color, disorder and collapse.    Or if you don't care to read the morning papers, just sit on the back porch and sip your coffee, suspend both belief and disbelief and try to fully savor the slow-rolling display.

Speaking of slow-rolling, you can also read the full-length version of this poem here.