Fall descends, a blanket lifted

The stuffy wool of summer gathered up and put away

Fresh air breathes in puffs, the evening sun in golds and cherry reds

The light filtered through trees and clouds, showing a new deep content

Leaves rain on each new breath, and we laugh and sigh, with ciders, and coffees, and baked goods with pumpkin and spice

It will end, the world will turn, and new blankets of frost and snow, like the tightly made beds ready for sleep.

But in this time, lengthened and melancholy, all is just good.  Not shouts of Summer, or Christmas revelry

This still moment, content in itself.