poeming on a warm autumn day
autumn keeps coming. over and over, world without end, till the end. a gorgeous kaleidescope of orange and red and yellow still interspersed with green. and the blue or gray or white or dark of the sky over us all. autumn pauses for heat waves and pushes through after the cold snaps back into place. autumn reminds us we don't have the innate ability to live in the open, we would freeze to death without our clothes and shelter, our fire and indoor heating. autumn reminds us to be watchful, that winter is coming. that winter is always, in fact, ready to test us, ready to scoop us up and shake us till we stop for good. autumn is the beginning of the end of the beginning of the end of the year, ending the beginning of the end until the next cycle. autumn is in medius res. autumn crunches underfoot and impales the barrier we thought we created between us and the world. autumn is the world. and autumn is us, taking on the last days of summer and stretching them out at long as we can. autumn is sometimes saught after and longed for and sometimes hoped away but most often autumn is accepted as comforting and cozy, the little sister of the death of winter, the rains that remind us of the torrent, the smell of what is ever so precious tipping towards decay. autumn is masks and costumes, makeup and candy. autumn is time's little helper. autumn seizes the day that we have squandered away. autumn flings it's doors wide open towards the best open sky. autumn tenses up, silent with the promise of nothing. autumn finds our cracks and widens them if we didn't patch them in summer. autumn is the poeming that never ends.