The kitchen floor reminds my feet
It is not August any longer
Leaves fall
Mornings are progressively darker now
though the glow of streetlamps is brighter through abandoned trees
Leaves fall
At first they are flying; windsurfers
Then they lose interest, settling on the sidewalks
Gangs of them loitering under benches and mailboxes
Leaves fall
Cold breezes will carry away their evidence
Soon enough
Leaves fall
Summer fades into autumn as watercolors do
A delicate transition
Leaves
Winter is open and shut
Her pallet is black and white
Winter comes
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