Autumn

s.d.g.

(09/13/2016)

Cold slits like a knife

through the reminiscence of summer.

The crows, like ants,

gather and scatter against

milk-pale skies.

Wind thrums, winter’s first yawn

rippling through the world,

and the leaves fall like cards from

spindly brown fingers.

 

The crown of gold, lifted from the earth

amidst the mists of September,

darkens into the dusky orange of a pumpkin.

Some ways off, the birds call

(not to each other, but to the receding glow

of the sun;

with furiously beating wings,

they follow it to the ends of the earth.)

 

Hands and toes curling against

the settling chill,

we blink blearily at the insistent tapping of rain

against our rooftops

and hum tunelessly to the rhythm it pounds.

Autumn – in all its quiet, unassuming splendour –

has arrived.

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