“Those mythical figures adorning our homes and perhaps lives, saviours and even spies? Alas, looking rather nice, at least, when staying on them shelves or wherever else they just might dwell.” Gun Roswell
Angels and elves,
Where do they dwell?
Filling the shelves perhaps
Putting on spells on us
Ringing the holiday bells maybe
Letting us know not to be lated
Of the seasonal celebrations
And so,
All is now well again
“Oh Xmas time, oh Xmas time… yeah, so, tis the season after all, so let’s try to have some kind of a ball? Even if some of us might not just subscribe to the general idea of the celebratory time. But yeah, totes put up a tree and some lights, as they do look, kinda nice!” Gun Roswell
The jolly Saint Nick
For some, Father Christmas
To others, Santa Claus
Call him what you will
You will always get your fill
Of happy thoughts and enjoyment
And possibly a nice payment
On Christmas Eve or Day wherever in the world you play
If you only believe
“It might be already autumn, fall, but these last rays of sun shine will be soaked“ Gun Roswell
They don’t look like much, and even the slightest touch, can make them crumble all the way down, but these hays, the lonely strays, far away, from the fields they were born, still hang on, until the last rays of summer, have been consumed.
And so, these strays loom, gently, softly in the winds of fall, as if trying some more time to stall, and still heaving, leaving, the onlookers in complete awe, as these, straws of summer almost passed, are quite strong and most likely will last, even past the strongest of winter’s storms.
“There is always something which survives the harshness of changing seasons” Gun Roswell
The nature, something wild and untamed
Even if nothing remains the same, when seasons change
Somethings, will never yield
To the yoke of weather, no matter how extreme
Keeping on, hanging there for dear life
Surviving, no matter what just might be the strife
The pests of nature as some might call them
But in the end, it does not really matter
These survivors of the harsh, will become so much better
Each and every passing season
Some say, this might just be even treason
From Mother Nature trying to prove being better
But humans do not understand
What the real struggle really is all about
As they are the ones pushing forward
Destroying all that which does not seem smart
Then again, who are they to decide
Because in the end, nature will always triumph
Long after the last human has disappeared
The weeds as they were once called
Have made their stance at the waters edge
Still surviving, even thriving
In the summers warmth and winters cold
“The last ones always do hang on for dear life until the very end, funny that is though“ Gun Roswell
The autumn soon passing as it like nothing else is forever lasting, the leaves of the season, turning to faded colours, soon to take the deep dive onto the ground, where a pile will only be found before the turning to dirt and dust, because it is a must, the circle never ending even if on this day, the leaves still spending their time on the branches in a surprise set of sunshine. But if tomorrow will bring some wind and rain, those leaves will be stained with prickles of water and then, they too will falter and take the plunge, into the ground as it was predetermined from the experience of the same thing happening over and over again, the circular fashion and the life span of anything in nature really, and so, these leaves too realising freely, that it is the only way. And maybe not to take it as a dismay, rather the sense of being reborn, come next time, the spring and warmth and then from the very dust and rain, blooming again, in a new way, in colours lush green, prettier than ever seen.
“The colour so vivid, so vibrant, like it’s on fire, gorgeous reds all around!” Gun Roswell
Roses are red
And violets are blue
That may be true
But also
The leaves
Of the Autumn
As they heave
Bright red
In the sunlight
Before turning
Well falling
Onto
The ground
How does that sound?
“Yes, it’s outside and yes, it’s still warm, and sure, there are lots to see, like all the colours of flowers and trees!” Gun Roswell
There are colours
And there are odours
All of them varied
Not really used sparingly
Mother Nature at her best
And it’s no jest
The colours captivating
For your perusal only waiting!
“A nature walk is something of a luxury these days for most. But, if you get the chance, taking a walk, in the garden, the surrounding fields, perhaps even a forest, see all them colours of, Autumn.” Gun Roswell
Roaming around the Hood
Because the weather was really good
Clouds floating in the blue sky
Wishing if only I could fly
The sun warm on my skin
Melting the coldest of Finns
Colours burning bright
Ideas taking flight
Snap, click, snap, click
Hoping to score some great pics
So here they are
I didn’t walk too far
But still got a great bunch
In a time it takes to have lunch
“This year, the nature won’t fear, the coming of winter, rather dwelling in the warmth of the fall, bringing out all the colours so fabulous.” Gun Roswell
Something about this time of the year
There is no fear, the closeness of it all so real
At least for a while that is
As soon, there will be change in the air
The winter closing in, I fear
“So, this is a surprise for sure! Another sun, is on the rising? Well, at least one up there, but yeah, it’s going to do it again today, so precious much?” Gun Roswell
Sunrise, higher than high
In the early September sky
Over the morning clouds
The sun has spread its shroud
Blues and reds playing in a mix
Eyes staring completely transfixed
The cool crisp air caressing
Almost feels like singing a song
Just because
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
