Built to Hibernate

The temperature fell dramatically two nights ago
And the hydrangea started to look old and brown again.
Topaz, the horse, is building up her dapple winter coat.
The cats found the box under the hot tank; there they remain.
Cotoneaster in the garden is changing from green
To scarlet, so its leaves now match its berries; Autumn's spoils.
The rich fields of grain stretching into the distance have been
Replaced by shiny, cold and wet, dark brown ploughed up soil.
The fen-wide skies take on a more encroaching countenance,
Tightening the space around me. I start to find cosier,
Warmer places to hide, as the cold and the dark advance,
And I become introspective instead of self-assured.
My waking moods are just as dark as the inky blue dawn
Which melts slowly, leeching out from behind deep silhouettes.
That feeling of the brevity of Autumn yet to come
Assembles at the back of my mind the past year's regrets,
Which winter will no doubt let me analyse to death.
Still I try to enjoy the last warm days (if fortunate).
But when Autumn hints that it is drawing its cooling breath
And arriving here; I know, I was built to hibernate.