Hills to Hawkesbury Living Magazine - - Community News -

Au­tumn is fi­nally here at last.

One might think the hu­mid days were now passed. Take Fe­bru­ary, the end of sum­mer, sweaty and hot,

One might think Mother Na­ture had lost the plot, As for­ward into Au­tumn we go, Dream­ing of cool days, of win­ter and snow.

At last March ar­rives but we’re still hot and sweaty With thirty-nine de­grees and high hu­mid­ity.

And you see on the news, the UK has some snow

And the tem­per­a­ture is sev­eral de­grees be­low.

And you drag through March, un­mo­ti­vated and tired You look at the forecast but you’re not in­spired. When along comes April the first, Easter Sun­day this year. You look out the win­dow, the sky is sunny and clear.

You were hoping for a day all cloudy and cool

But no, it is clear you’re the April Fool.

The Easter bunny placed his eggs round the yard They started off oval shaped and hard.

Then the kids ar­rived, gave a squeal of de­light

As their eyes feasted on the colour­ful sight.

At last the Easter egg hunt had be­gun,

But not be­fore choco­late squished and melted in the sun. The kids didn’t care, as their mouths turned brown

And their par­ents looked on and smile turned to frown They kept say­ing, ‘That’s the last, don’t eat any more. How many have you had? Two? No, I counted four.’ Then the days march on and it’s cool at last,

You wake up re­freshed now that sum­mer has passed. You stick your nose out the door and what do you smell You smell Au­tumn, you breathe deep, and your heart starts to swell. You go for a walk and the colours de­light,

As you take in the won­drous and beau­ti­ful sight.

The leaves start to fall and un­der­foot they crunch On im­pulse you bend down and throw up a bunch.

The kids throw them­selves down and you cover them in leaves They get bits in their hair and they stick on their sleeves. They col­lect spikey balls, they show off and boast

And care­fully count them to see who has most.

By the time it is May, there’s a chill in the air,

You just throw on a coat, you don’t re­ally care. You’re alive, you have en­ergy and you’re feel­ing just fine, But that wind has a bite, you think it’s a sign

That win­ter is near with its weather quite cold

And your bones start to ache and you’re feel­ing quite old. So you cling on to the last rays of warmth from the sun.

It’s time to hi­ber­nate, for Au­tumn is done.

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