Quill & Conscience

Autumn is like a candle burning at both ends,

the flame bright but shrinking,

consuming what’s left of summer’s wax, 

flickering before the long nights settle in

Autumn walks in,

her pockets are lined with cinnamon and clove,

robbing the greenery, 

but what she takes is given back tenfold

in copper and gold currency

The trees now wear their new vulnerability

like children wearing their costumes

meant for Halloween, just days too soon

Limbs reaching skyward

asking nothing, knowing their roots

have already dug their burrows for the winter

Pumpkin spice lands on my tongue,

the first sip like the season’s secret,

it curls in my chest

as if the world were waiting to 

add only a bit too much sugar 

to the first batch of cookies—

the way I do when the air twists and turns

Oh, to inhale the scent of baking;

a promise the summer never gave

I lace my shoes,

step into a game of hearing the leaves 

crack underfoot,

each step like the pull of a zipper

sealing off warmth,

welcoming the cold

Autumn is the one 

whose hand presses pause,

halting time in shades of amber

just before her plunge into frozen waters—

for a silence full of things unsaid,

a soft inhale before winter’s exhale