(through golden wheat it comes.)

it comes slowly. then through golden wheat and the smell of oak fall comes, emerging into cold and pounding hearts.

i used to believe it came in tea: trickling into the trunks of trees till they relax enough to let go of summers memories. yet now i know it comes in science, formulas allowing branch and leaf to part, sun-bleached hair to fade...

it comes in the smiles of chill weather and the parting of warmed skin.