An Ode to Autumn
There is a crispness to the air,
it warms the part of me drenched in sweat,
it soothes a generation of arguments,
replacing it with sweaters, dead leaves, gourds, and coziness.
From the moment I open my eyes
to the second my head hits the pillow,
framed by an orange glow,
Autumnal spectres stretch their hands
shaping my melancholy into wistfulness.
My brain halts weariness production
for but a moment
as the wind hits and I pull on my socks
and take in the crinkle of leaves dancing
I can slow my mind.
For she too can be tricked,
in this instance, she can understand
we can return. We can shift.
It does not end here, it will continue despite
heat and pressure and swelling.
this cold and hollowness allow us to expand
to grow and shape ourselves anew—
decay leaves room in the soil for new roots—
to become more than what stopped us.
Thank you, Fall/Autumn/Mid-Season, sincerely,
from a women who is too hot in the summer,
to the point of frustration, but also likes the outdoors.
AN: Did I write a small poem to thank Fall for being chill, yes I did.
