arrival

These quiet days swift flit away

as does the hummingbird -

she cannot stay to keep her play

but ventures off unheard.

The hours unfold like paper wings

with edges soft and gray -

their shadows lengthen at the seams

with winter on its way.

The sky forgets its tethered beams

the sun turns pale and thin -

the air grows fragile as a dream

that fades at morning's whim.

The wind forgets its weight, its name -

the trees unthread their hues,

and as the days dissolve and change,

so comes the Silver Muse.

Each flower a brittle, fleeting thing,

their roots in silence meet

as winter folds its quiet wing

to settle at our feet.