Autumn has come to swallow me

110 people walk on yellow,

red, and gold leaves,

placed perfectly by another tree

that’s released its tethers to

yesterday.

Watching through the steam

of my coffee,

kissing the coldest day on record.

It’s not hard to notice people—

everyone rushing past,

like tiny particles in the wind,

sticking to the fibre of my black coat—

a perfect disguise for a summer child.

I’m not ready for the sky

to come and meet me.

I am not ready for the chill

that dances up my spine

when morning has yet to appear.

I’m invited to another season,

and this one is by far my favourite.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

My niece loves to gather

the reddest leaves she can find.

And I ask her,

“Why not yellow or brown?”

She smiles and tells me

that she really wants the red ones

because it’s a sign

that autumn is truly here.

And that’s what it does:

autumn has come home

and swallowed me up,

showed me once again

that time doesn’t sit still,

and neither does my niece.