Even the silence is quiet today.
The last of Autumn’s leaves flocked
and flew away in a late-winter storm,
so this afternoon’s peace remains
unmarred by their bird-like scuttling
on the root-buckled sidewalk.
From my glass of tea, just within reach
on a slatted wood table, condensation
trickles and falls onto the damp,
shaded grass below, its intermittent
drip drip marking these gentle moments.
And, though I can remember the bitter
feel of February, my body is incapable
of knowing it—with this dappled light
insinuating itself so intimately into my
blood—nor do I want to. There will be
time enough for frost and snow,
when November comes again.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Ankyn/Pixabay, further altered