It’s just half-past October, and even the sunrise is headed south.
Another bright summer is over. The slate grey days are here.
The geese scrawl their cunieiform message across the sky:
“This way out,” > they say. “This way.” > “This way.”
Our snowbird friends have flown and we stand
yearning after them and wishing for wings.
The days narrow down to year’s end.
The cold nestles into our souls.
The crystal air has an edge,
and winter is into us
with her first