Still Fall Day

Soft afternoon sneaks under morning’s hold

Faint breeze hoisting tiny bits of almost forgotten summer

Save for a little dry stick along the path

Snapping under foot, cracking into the damp green new grass

And carried along on the breeze.

Gentle, slumbering afternoon for remembering a thousand other places

Just like now.

When this breeze might ruffle the curtain of summer’s open window

Or spoil the warmth of spring’s first day

Or maybe whisper “Here I come” on the edge of winter.

And this afternoon falls into the long hold of night

Long after the breeze passes to those other times

Where the morning, the night, the day

All hang in one long breath

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