October: The Winds of Change

“Real and proverbial doors had shut. Softly. I didn’t have to slam anything. The winds of change did that for me.” Linda Durham

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest. Sha…