Faux leather shoes crunch the leaves,
scattering gold, orange and brown.
Dog-friend sniffs some leftover yellow-greens…
seems there’s something enticing down there
for her to sniff up close. Very close.

Gunmetal shadows linger longer these days,
thinner too, which amuses me
and I smile briefly at the thought.

Days have shortened now.
Sun dips quicker it seems.
The breeze grows full-on cold and
I’m warm in my thick maroon sweater
though my cheeks and fingers are cold like blue.

In this wooded haven that is my refuge I linger
and reflect on the year soon to be done.
Remembering those who started it with me,
with us all,
who are gone now from this place.

Bare oak stands beside us,
pointy gray-brown branches everywhere
and nowhere all at once.
She’s waiting, as She does this time of year,
for the new to come again.
In Spring.

She points to the ground below.
Suddenly I see what She is saying.
There are acorns, many acorns,
seeking their time as trees to come.
Ah, but first, there is the winter darkness
we all must abide.