The North Wind

In Tennessee it starts with rain.

Autumn sprinkles in gently -

But winter arrives in deluge.

The scent of petrichor-

But crisper - colder.

The acrid bite against my skin -

Something more than the morning chill.

Then there’s a shiver that is bone-deep.

It says the harvest is complete.

In Autumn our low bearing mountains-

And winding valley climbing roads

sparkle like flames from vibrant leaves.

They stay shrouded a glimmer dewy veil-

Mist formed by cold autumn morning air.

Air that meets summer heated asphalt and pesticide.

No one knows better than these wary bones-

That the strong biting wind brings the cold.

As I sit and listen to the wind coming from the north -

I know the morrow brings winters frost upon my porch.