In this moment
Fall is brown, rustling, frosty, quiet.
Time for the world to rest.
Clouds and fog shroud these days,
veiling the sun, hushing the sky.
Crunching leaves underfoot, I want to defy
my urge to hibernate. Sleep beckons me.
The squirrels still play, even as they gather
their harvest. I, too, can store
my gladness, and crack the shell open
in the middle of the winter,
a feast to spread onto my art and to share at my table.