The frost-protected

Earth turns into the brittle season washed and chilled by rain. The crickets now have little to say, to silent roots the trees draw down the sugar in their veins. Wild geese point out routes for summer-dreamers. Faded leaves hang faltering in wet wind. How I freeze for the warmth and ease of the sun! But I won't give the cold more scope than the whole of a sparse season. Secrets are visible now. Seed-pod and resinous cone reveal a symmetry that settles me. I can be still, outwait the shortened light. This is not dying. Only a necessary step deeper in.

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