The Last Warm Breath

The trees are almost bare,

their branches stretched out widely,

like they are trying to hang on

to that one last shimmer of the sun.

The sun falls earlier now.

Gold turns to grey in a single breath,

and the sky turns into

that wintery kind of blue,

that doesn’t touch the ground.

The grass wears a thin silver skin,

and the last brown leaf

sticks to the window

like it doesn’t know

where else to go.

When I open the door,

the air bites-

not cruelly,

but honestly.

Autumn is gone.

Winter didn’t ask.

It simply arrived.