Fall

Swirling, churning, a blustery burning, it whirls into the indolently ebbing summer to remind me of the meaning of time. Swelling the landscape with a wave of color, frosting the grass with a bitter suggestion that the party might soon be over, it nips my cheeks with chilly lips as I gather myself within a coat that embraces me like an old friend. The marina sits empty now, long weathered creaky docks calling stalwart seagulls to their tall dark pilings, to await an onslaught of ice. I walk through the wind among these patient sentries, gazing out at the lake, darkened like a winter sky, as distant rolling white-capped waves beckon me like sirens.