Leaves hanging on, holding on,
day after or day before. Closer.
We know this can’t be autumn
evermore. Impressions. Cooler
mornings. Slight breeze. The end
of one season, the beginning of
another a long cold winter. Soon.
Perhaps. How can we know?
Apprehension. Wicked winds
have not yet stripped trees bare.
We find comfort in colour and
perception. Sometimes it’s not
the ability to face a storm, but
the forethought to recognize
what is coming. Hold on.