October

Birdsong goes on though I cannot hear.

The whole house is quiet now, a cool and homey tomb, since just now

I closed every window

to keep out the cold that woke me last night.

Homemade vegetable soup

smells that much better in the chill and silent air.

The sun shines but the world outside is colder, changing.

Everything

is always turning

into something else.

One response to “October

  1. Jennifer, despite your protestations to the contrary, I must insist that you are a poet. Yes, you are. This evoked the feeling of fall for me very well. I love fall, but there is always that edge of autumnal melancholy.

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