IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
My Old Friend, Melancholy
A poem
Late summer sinking,
autumn advancing, beckoning,
fresh, cool morning moisture
sitting supple and soft in the air.
Not oppressively
but gently
massaging the changing season into my summer-brown skin.
With it, a melancholy arrives,
a lethargy,
a despondency,
unfolds its way
into my mind and heart;
a familiar melancholy,
for we have met many times,
year after year
each time the same
as the sun begins withdrawing
into his winter seclusion.
Do not pity me.
This melancholy, though grey,
is yet a welcome friend.
For with her comes a spark,
an inspiration towards a higher realm,
a sanctuary of light
where I can exist in a parallel universe,
driven by creative forces I cannot explain.
She has power,
she IS power
turning apprehension into beauty
of tentative transformation,
metamorphosis mingled with magic,
softly sliding from summer sun
to whistling winds and frigid frosts
and crisp…
