"Season Stirring"

It is drawing near.

I can feel it in my feet.


These are not toes.

They are small roots.

And, planted here

in soil and sand,

I can feel it

drawing near.


At leaf tips.

Dampness of air.

Fresh fallen rain.

I can feel it drawing near.


High heat of dog-days

traveling back up

along beams of light,

re-entering the cauldron of sun.


I can feel it drawing near.

Cool days.

Cooler nights.

Leaves tumbling down,

scattering in wind.


Blankets on laps

over knees

pulled close around backs

pinned to shoulders ---

penannular woodland dreaming.


Cable-knit sweaters

woven with songs of ancestors.

Firelight.

A flask of whisky.

A mug of mulled wine.

Sliver of moon

peering through

silvery branches.


Not once

have I mentioned

the word: Autumn.


Yet,

something deep

within your cells of memory

knows

the spirit of the next season

is already on the move.


image: Ricardo Gomez Angel