“Something about this, time of the year, this, fall, autumn, whatever it’s called, it’s so, gorgeous!” Gun Roswell
The sun was beckoning
Behind the closed window shades
The outside warm and welcoming
Blue skies and colours splayed
On the tableau drawn by nature
Quite the creator
Of beauty and awe
Almost dropped my jaw
When I stepped outside
And stared at the scene in front of me with pride
“it’s just a month, nothing more, the turning of the year, the seasonal change, weather more likely, so just, deal with it?” Gun Roswell
Little if no sunlight
Feeling the urge of flight
Looking through windows
Outside tall shadows
Cold weather gracing us
With minus degrees Celsius
Colours quickly a fading
The nature slowly graying
October or sobbtober
Surely nothing to rock over
You followed September
Surely, a month to remember
But, as life always has a twist
Therefore I must insist
This time, this October
Was truly a rocktober
With sunshine in abundance
And colours of substance
So far nothing to complain about
No time for doubt or pout
Both spirit and camera uplifted
With feelings of being gifted
With a beautiful October
“The best seat in the house, but it’s on the outside!” Gun Roswell
It may be cold outside
With lots of frosted snow there lies
But as the sun comes from its hide
(if it even bothers to do that during winter times!)
You need to take it oh so very slow
And so
Take a seat for a little while
Even if it might not exactly be your style
And simply enjoy with a smile
(No matter snow covered or not!)
“Sometimes, one simply needs to forget about the hassle around, take a breather and concentrate on the very essence of what this special season really means, if anything.” Gun Roswell
In a comfortable winter’s sled
A holiday heart, glowing in red
Cheer and joy, for a while it will spread
No one knows, what here it lead
Or where it will next head
So each night, before you go to bed
Whisper a wish to keep it fed
“It’s made out of snow, but has a nose and a bow, or a scarf, guess depending on the person having made the snowman up. Freezing cold outside, alas, never too cold for the bold snowman, standing there, in the yard.” Gun Roswell
Frosty the Snowman
Delivering the ultimate plan
For the holiday fan
From here to Milan
Doing the holiday can-can
Just because, he can
“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.
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
