Drifting

I can feel myself slowly drifting into unease,
As autumn colour broadens its embrace,
The landscape shifts, trees become skeletal,
Lawns are covered in a blanket of the fallen dead,
Cold mornings arrive, giving way to brilliant sunshine,
While cold nights invoke a fear of the coming winter,
The impending solitude and confinement weigh heavy,
Seasonal inertia creeps, with a deathlike silence,
The state of mind the ice season brings is sobering,
A time when the elderly pass, and the young suffer,
Winter brings fat billionaires, rubbing their grotesque trotters,
While all hibernate to survive, until the next change of season.