In Autumn’s Grasp

Autumn is like a candle burning at both ends,
the flame bright but shrinking,
consuming what’s left of summer’s wax,
flickering before the long nights settle in

Autumn walks in,
her pockets are lined with cinnamon and clove,
robbing the greenery,
but what she takes is given back tenfold
in copper and gold currency

Leaves that whisper slowly,
they fall like forgotten pages
carried on a breeze that speaks of endings
but holds no malice, only memories

The trees now wear their new vulnerability
like children wearing their costumes
meant for Halloween, just days too soon
Limbs reaching skyward
asking nothing, knowing their roots
have already dug their burrows for the winter

Pumpkin spice lands on my tongue,
the first sip like the season’s secret,
it curls in my chest
as if the world were waiting to
add only a bit too much sugar
to the first batch of cookies—
the way I do when the air twists and turns
Oh, to inhale the scent of baking;
a promise the summer never gave

Mornings now wear coats of frost,
breath visible, hanging
like a half-formed thought in the stillness

I lace my shoes,
step into a game of hearing the leaves
crack underfoot,
each step like the pull of a zipper
sealing off warmth,
welcoming the cold

Autumn is the one
whose hand presses pause,
halting time in shades of amber
just before her plunge into frozen waters—
for a silence full of things unsaid,
a soft inhale before winter’s exhale