The Party’s Over
by Carole Richard Thompson
The mountains wait, stone silent,
for Fall to go about her business
and depart with some dignity.
The hills grow weary of the gaudy
season’s riot, and wait for Winter’s
housekeeping to blow rattling
crumbs of faded leaves
down to valleys below.
As beauty longs to remove
makeup, retreat from admiration,
the mountains yearn to pull up
snowy blankets and sleep
a dreamless Winter, having set
the relentless alarm clock of Spring.
Author’s Comment: I think of the mountains as very old living things. Thousands of changing seasons only affect what grows on them, not the mountains themselves. It seems that by the end of Fall every year they are quite ready to return to their natural state and, have a long winter’s nap.