Photo: Cole Keister

the crisp
the cool
the snap
the surge
that first bite of bone cold
our host
still warmed enough by our local neighborhood sun.
a signal
a chase
a race of leaves to the mother’s floor.
a rattle
a spin
leaves tumble the street end on end in the wind
sounds to ear mimic rain but are dry rouse rustle
a carpet
a mat
a former umbrella.
that feel
that snap
undeniable –
the crisp.

3 thoughts on “arrival.//

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