ode to autumn

Apple skins, apple skins;
Snare drum tins from the light raindrops
Gaze at the trees 'til everything stops for just three seconds--

I am alive, but subtle, in a world full
Of deep and muted colors that complement a body of my pallor.
I am alive, but unwinding in the air, everything is

Still.

The bite of the impending cold still lies beneath
The lingering warmth of a procrastinating summer.
The two make slow love through October, and I am in heaven;
I am wont to walk outside in boots and coat and scarf
And look like, for once, that I belong in this place.

If I ever get married, I'm getting married towards the end of September.

Chestnut and auburn and maroon and cocoa and brick and navy and taupe and plum and mahogany and stone and olive and forest!
I taste these when I open my mouth when the air I breathe is so cold it hurts my nose;
The valley is painted in these when I chance upon the view across the river.

The quiet of spring is the quiet before a dawn, before things awaken.
The fading noise of summer is only in the evenings--the signal before slumber--and even then, does not go away when others sleep.
The silence of winter is like a cold hand clasped over an unsuspecting mouth, although it does have its moments by the hearth, as long as you don't have to drive anywhere around here.

But the hushed tones of autumn are welcome:
Nothing is expected of you soon,
And nothing was expected of you before,
And nothing is forced, or hidden--
A meditative state, and as yet unbidden,
Accepted.

-Dana Winter