This season’s colours will be brown and gold Fading to sepia, like a photograph. The leaves, still splendid, are already old, Their richness is a kind of aftermath. This, like all seasons, is a time of change. The new awaits, the old must pass away. But this is autumn’s theme, however strange: Beauty is interwoven with decay. For trees, for people, autumn time arrives. Nature or Man, this law affects us all; We all must reach the autumn of our lives. Cities and empires, like the leaves, must fall. This is the tint of autumn, briefly there— The shade between elation and despair. David Whippman is a British poet, now retired after a career in healthcare. Over the years he’s had quite a few poems, articles and short stories published in various magazines.