A Seasoned Child

As the rain in the highlands falls ,
The smell of wood burning stoves hangs in the air .

People smiled behind closed windows with
A welcome warmth of company to share .

The past is gone and today is with us but a while ,
The autumn child shall grow .

Wood piles await the Winter ,
Leaves await the rake ,
The Highrange awaits the snow .

Winter awaits the spring ,
Closed windows will open up ,
And the Spring child shall smile .

The future rests itself in open spaces ,
Beyond the mist a little while .

Mother Nature throws her home open .
And the summer child is welcome to stay .

Wafting through the air ,
The smell of wood burning stoves ,
But the child has gone away .