Hello, Autumn.

Bright lights fading fast,

blown hither and nigh.

Twisted tale, simple sail,

birth to end,

a diecast in the green.

Some mornings I lie in bed and can’t get up,

the window shades close and tight,

the sheets so cozy and warm,

the day ahead unclear,

a feeling it won’t go right,

my thoughts a doomy storm.

The world is a mess.

Bad people wander carelessly.

Dark shadows hide.

Tomorrow is a question mark.

The earth staggers.

Darkness looms.

But outside:

light rises,

rooster cries,

birds begin their songs.

I think of all the possible prizes

the day might bring–

wild hope

despite the leaves

and their simple silent sighs.

Downstairs I hear

coffee perking

lamp switch turning on

bright call of maybe

possibility of hope and gifts

footsteps upon moss paths

dog wags and sniffs

nose brushes with my son

dancing curls from my daughter

bear hugs from my husband

flour sifting through my fingers

wool socks on my feet

a fire crackling tonight

book pages to feel and turn

and tea with milk and honey.

I will wrap myself in warmth.

I will open my arms so wide.

I will walk fast but stop to listen.

I will open the pages and start again.

I will live,

broken but rebuilt,

like the trees around me:

made of threads of fiber and form and forgotten leaf skeletons

spiderwebs and grass leaves and tiny filaments of salt from the sea

fed from iron ore and molten sea below me

layers and layers of fossils fueling me

their life and death

my certainty.

For today is a hope that lives.

Today is a possibility that gives.

Today is a bell that rings,

ready for it all.

Bring it, Autumn.

I’m with you all season.

Let’s shed the illusions

and get down to the bones of it.

Rushing rivers turning sand,

hawks shrieking and reminding,

the blue heron clowning around in the trees.

We’re in this together,

you and I,

so let’s get out of bed

and get ready

for Winter.