and bite to the evening air.
My love, we appear to be seasonal.
Perhaps we were best at spring,
but when isn’t that the easy season? –most awaited melting, springing forth life. Now autumn, I know you in a whole new light.
The leaves changing from their predictable green
To a myriad of golds and tie-dyed rusts.
In summer, I never saw this coming. Perhaps naïve to be so caught up in the heat
of it all. Perhaps necessary to feel
so alive--if only for a brief eclipsed season of time.