In The Hour When The World Goes Still

The gentle breeze turns sharp and chill,

the last leaves fall like russet tears.

Autumn leans into winter,

Imperceptibly.

.

The air is crisp as fresh laundry,

seasoned with lazy melancholy.

Even my coffee tastes different

as the days grow shorter.

.

The sunsets tilt into violet,

the nights get darker and deep.

The world is fading,

Skeleton trees.

.

Nothing hides the deer now,

as the pale sunlight drifts across

the fog and the fields,

sluggishly.

.

The geese are flying south,

their wings flapping rhythmically.

If you stay still, you can hear it—

the sad song of leaving.

.

Nothing stays the same now.

Look, how the squirrels got fat!

Their bellies full with plenty

of their harvest.

.

But things are never what they seem,

The world isn't dying;

it is only going to sleep,

and everything gets rebuilt again.