But for a moment

When it makes its sudden arrival, you cradle it.

Not the weather, but the shift.

Of a new;

like the scent of pages of a book that has aged gracefully,

or crumbled paper singed by the waltz of the fire.

Icicles shimmer off the bushy tail of the grinny.

The flowers undress, in the most fashionable manner.

Autumns dark-eyed junco sings a different song.

To bellow out the time has come.

The sticks crunch from the feral winds of fright,

as the tundra ghost nestle up for winters bite.

All the thrill points a finger in homely direction.

But when the dew settles,

this moment mourns the tune of its exit.