Sitting warm enough
at my window, watching
through the weeks,
the leaves all turning,
dying, flying–
Autumn draining of its color,
of its spicy scents and all
its memories of Summer…

Winter churns and blows
not so distantly it blusters
up among the peaks,
breathes out across the plains,
all flurrying and hurrying
to reclaim the air,
the land, the bleak
it seeks to hide
beneath the shimmering
romance of snow,
the lovely shine
and treachery of ice.

I will delight in snow
dancing in the air,
muffling the day,
or through the night,
laying down a counterpane
of fine, unsullied white…

Later, though, when layering
for warmth and style
have been no fun for
quite a while,
yearning will impose
upon pleasure,
upon patience,
and eagerly
I will be counting
off the days
until the green mists
of another Spring.

CL Redding November 2022

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