Toward Winter
By Charles Pierre.
In late November, after the abundance
of summer and early fall, when withered
vines and leaves deepen the solitude
of the land, one can walk almost unseen,
like the wind coursing through bare trees
or a dust mote crossing a shaft of sunlight.
In this diminished scene, the emptiness
can unburden, almost free, the self,
until one becomes aware of the season
but not the date, on an hourless afternoon,
neither mild nor cold, the slight stiffness
in the joints a certain sign of the short
clipped days and long crystalline nights
to come, as one walks the hardening earth,
with a hunger for less and less of the year,
into the devouring mouth of December.
BEVERLY KENNEY from Sings For Johnny Smith
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