Between the Last Leaf and the First Ice

The air has changed—

you can hear it before you see it.

The wind moves slower now,

brushing the edges of the world

as if afraid to wake it.

________***

A single leaf skims across the road,

its papery whisper echoing like memory.

The trees stand taller, emptied—

their bark breathing out smoke-cold sighs.

Every sound stretches thin—

the creak of a gate,

the distant bark of a dog,

the hush between them

as the earth listens to itself.

________***

The light tastes different too—

muted gold fading into pewter.

You can feel it on your tongue,

that faint metallic promise of frost.

It smells like cedar and endings,

like firewood stacked for confession.

Somewhere, a pond tightens

under its first thin skin of glass,

and the water beneath

remembers movement in silence.

________***

Touch is sharper now.

Even your breath feels edged,

turning to mist that lingers too long.

The grass beneath your boots

crackles with secret laughter—

a brittle kind of joy.

________***

And in this breath between seasons,

everything stands still

just long enough to realize

it’s changing.

***