A Golden Bridge

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There is something Janus-like about the light of late summer: it speaks of both the fading summer and the approaching autumn; of decay and loss as well as of the harvest and the eternal return of life.

A Golden Bridge

Whispering of winter, August clouds frame the sky.
Descending, they shatter the day into fleeting mirages.
The winds lament in chorus with the crows,
restlessly heralding the triumph of the night.

Startled, life recoils from the furious pack,
which, in a feverish frenzy, tugs at the birches‘ robes
and rushes around their timid crowns,
howling to stifle the summer’s hymn.

Yet silently, amidst the frantic flight,
the sheltering gates of September swing open,
and, trembling, a golden bridge
harbours the fading breath of life.

German Version on Literaturplanet

Image: Albert König (1861 – 1944): Weather Clouds, (1920s); Unterlüß / Lower Saxony, Albert König Museum (Wikimedia commons)

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