By Carolyn Carter
O you are clever.
Pump us full of hot days and dripping popsicles that lull us
into sweet
security, sweet languidness.
Shine that sun, so we don't notice the days folding in on
themselves,
darkness at eight, then seven, then six...
Color the trees and freshen the air, bells and whistles to
hold our attention,
to keep us distracted
while you quietly walk out...
unnoticeably,
waving goodbye with redandorangeandyellow leaves fluttering from
empty branches,
slowly
abandoning,
waiving rights of color, rights of warmth,
to an already frozen floor.
