What word upon days

Rests lightly as a nest

Abandoned by summer youth

Flying towards their sky; their story

It is the last hours of sun’s reign

And weathered boats tether up

For winter storms

Fuel stored

For warming the hearths

Of hibernating souls

It is in these months

Of blood-red leaves

The opportunity for witnessing

The deep. The dark.

To that for which we have turned from

Too light with light’s laughter to pause for solemn reproach

The clock shall strike midnight this eve

And time shall fall