Sensing change in the forest

The air cools my nostrils

I see a thin layer of change in-between seasons.

Birch bark peels like old thin paper curling in the chill.

The moss beneath my winter boots

Has stiffened overnight, its green is dulled and wet.

Somewhere, a raven passes by, above in the sky,

Its cry a dark seam in the cloudy night.

The lake no longer mirrors the trees;

It holds clear waters beneath a trembling icy skin.

I taste smoke in the air, the chimneys, perhaps?

The promise of November snow is unsaid but near.

The Sun leans lower,

Its gold losing power,

Its warmth is only a memory on my skin.

My breath rises, soft, uncertain,

And the forest listens, it always listens.

Each naked branch holding still,

As if the whole Finland were waiting

For the first quiet fall of white snow.