Contributed by: Robert Jones, professor of education
WINTER COMES TO GALVESTON BAY
Can this be the time?
Now does it begin?
Scent the myrrh in this moment;
Catch the sough of the wind
As it flows through the Firewheels,
Makes the Pin Daisies spin,
Pushes high flying geese to the south.
Change is in the air!
In past Autumns I long lingered
To the sounds of loons on the lake.
Now I watch whistling ducks chortle
As they rise from the bayou and take
Wing to chase the swift setting Sun.
I see them fly to the edge;
They are gone, it is done;
Not to return for many a day.
A walk by the Bay
On a fog-filled Fall night,
Drops fall from the trees like soft rain.
The fog shrouded stars still shine so bright;
It’s chilly-warm, wondrous yet strange!
A fog horn calls from off the Bay
With the sound of a slow moving train.
One more sign for this time of change.
This is not New England,
Not the Upper Midwest.
No change of bright color,
No ice, rarely snow.
No dark clouds to cover the Sun,
And the cold north winds seldom blow.
Instead…it is a shift in the wind.
It is a migrating bird’s parting call.
Bay fog rain at the end of the day,
Simple, subtle, but one and all
They mark the way
Winter comes softly
Now Winter comes to Galveston Bay.