I open the window and with a sigh look around
The long grass, the oaks with their spidery branches and the once green birches seem tired and old
Tired from the rainless and hot summer
Tired from the long and uneventful days
I watch them, fascinated, when they talk among themselves, when they whisper stories to the young and innocent lilies or when they sing with the summer breeze
I listen...when they talk to me
Beyond the creaking doors, beyond the noisy crickets, beyond the buzzing of the bees
I hear them, the grass and the ancient trees
I hear them telling me of the coming of autumn,
Of the soon-to-appear colourful leaves, of the strong north wind-
the wind that will bring stormy days and chilly nights, and of the rain that will soon fall, washing away the smell of summer
Beyond the singing of birds, beyond the distant barking of a dog, beyond the ringing of the church bells
I hear them
