How seasons so swiftly pass.
The cooling nights.
The gathering calls.
The hummingbird’s final flight.
Fall once brimmed with beginnings, with hope.
I donned a starchy, new blouse and wool jumper.
The milk-weed pods launched their fluffy parachutists.
The woolly caterpillars awaited our probing fingers.
Now I grieve the changes.
The children’s empty beds, made up tight.
A knee’s aching stubbornness.
The stillness of the house.
There is comfort in the familiar, a slowing of the routine.
The dog and I watch the stars fade in the morning sky
As my neighbor’s kitchen light warms the yard.
And from the frosted lawn, I heard the timbre of his familiar voice.