Autumn is over, the winds grow harsh,
There's ice on the pond, and frost in the marsh.
Blue herons have left us, gone for a time,
Back to their homes in a warmer clime.
The grass has grown brown, the trees are all bare
And cottontail rabbit's turned snowshoe hare.

My cabin is cozy, it's warm by the fire
But part of it stifles the fresh air desire
Of my Nordic roots, they know me well.
I look outside: the night's clear as a bell.
The evenings grow longer, but not to despair,
The longer they are, the crisper the air.

With a new season turning, things are made right,
My wings are done molting, I spread them for flight.
But before I leave, my candle I douse
Then batten the eaves and lock up the house.
I'll be back soon, but the night is cold,
And the warmth of my home I want to hold.

I run out the door, under the full moon,
Then spread my wings and answer the loon.
I run through the meadow, jump into the air,
And start on my way with a whispered prayer.