Andrew Mark Sauerwein

This third setting of Grace Andrews' poetry evokes a conversational spirit of hopeful, joyful anticipation. Like Line, the song looks for what lies beyond the images and experiences that winter heralds.

Lyrics:

It’s not just the crunching leaves, you know.

(They don’t come ‘til later.)

It’s not just pumpkinapplehyggescarves.

Boots and marshmallows are only part of the story.

It’s not even the red-orange-yellow glory—

                 Though that’s getting closer.

Fall scuttles hope along the asphalt.

The hell of summer is past—or, at least, fading.

Perhaps it’s not resurrection, but it’s freedom.

The oppressors are driven back and

Winter’s gentle invitation stands.

Awake from your lethargy, you stultified soul!

Take rest, weary one.

Feel the snap of adventure and look at the yellow day.

                   It will be winter again.