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, seeds, 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.