In the dead of winter, Winter spoke morosely of death--
Forgetting that death is part of the cycle of life.
It was inconstant, inconsistent and unpredictable.
One never knew what to wear--a forced smile or a hidden tear.
Sometimes bogged down in soggy soil of pessimism
Or slipping on pretty puddles turned to ice of cynicism.

Spring spoke of correction, by exaggerating momentary pleasure--
Forgetting that life is a part of the cycle of death,
And thus becoming a contradiction in unrealistic optimism.
Always on an alcoholic high, drunk on imagination,
Peopled with impossible dreams and filled with false images.

As most blossoms fell to a dependable earth,
Which holds within its body seeds of future
Nurtured by soft rain and warm sun of Summer,
"me" became "us" and "I" became the blanket of sky
which enfolds and covers humanity.
Then the cold calculation of What-can-I-get
Became the warm question, "What can I give?"

what kind of Fall will it be?
To fall out, or to grow into winter together?
To pose the question is not necessarily narrative.
It may be a challenge and become a beacon
That remains to be seen. That is up to all of us--
brothers and sisters in a world more social than physical--
a part of nature, with humans potentially the best part,
but needing the love and help of lovers and friends.
Our choices today affect our choices tomorrow.
Fall can tell us that the security of love
is better than the novelty of sheer adventure.
But real love, itself, can be an integrated adventure…
in and for all seasons--with mutual reasons and R&R
and social service and guiding star to miss the bar.

By RV Cottam. July, 1996. Written for and read at the wedding of R&R Hirshen.