"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.


A flask of whisky.

A mug of mulled wine.

Sliver of moon

peering through

silvery branches.

Not once

have I mentioned

the word: Autumn.


something deep

within your cells of memory


the spirit of the next season

is already on the move.

image: Ricardo Gomez Angel