This season is gone, trailing its pungent remains: leaf rot, mushrooms, uneaten fruit decaying back to their elements, covering the deep black realm of water, spoors, roots, unseen, fertile, mysterious. I will remember this when winter sinks its talons into the landscape. Summer’s final relenting breath. Autumn with a last raucous fling. Our desire to see out another season. It is the way with every living thing in this passing, fading pasture.