He had been standing there for hours
staring into the heavens, the clouds
a foreboding shroud promising regeneration,
promising rain, promising redemption.
He said to the heavens, “I loved you once,”
and an ominous wind replied, “you
loved yourself, nothing else mattered.”
He wanted to argue but the wind, too,
abandoned him and the smell of lightning
he could not yet see assaulted him.
He knew he should take shelter, knew
he was little more than an intrusion
which nature could, soon would,
easily cast aside and the bucolic scene
he wanted for himself would be lost
as winter’s icy grip choked the last
beauty of autumn and carried it off.