(when we tire.)

hands seem to tire in fall's weariness. 

crinkling like leaves are our movements and the freshness of september is quietly swept away. leaving us in only settle ways, yet the air smells more like rain and the blades of grass prepare for crystals of perfectly formed snow.

so as dried flowers become coated in dust we'll remember the days of liveliness.

(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.

(love for the cold days.)

winter's first embrace is always shocking.

it greets you like a visiting friend, one who pulls you in and you 'till our bodies awaken to freshly baked bread and steeped tea. with winter comes lit candles, bringing the scent of beeswax to cold and crackled floors.

 it comes quickly, so we preserve summer for the cold months to come. we allow sun to seep into our fatigued december hands with the techniques buried in all manitoban souls: spreading jam on toast, rereading the best novel from july, gathering together. 

the days are long, yet I never feel the tugging of spring. i yearn for the crackled leaves over the fresh ones. i wait for socks that belong to boots, dismissing the bare-footed walks on warm pavement.

winter’s first embrace is always shocking. 

yet when it comes it will hold us, pulling us in each year till the sunlight returns to days and favorite novels return to July.

(till it comes again.)

until next year...