Autumn does not disrupt the household.
She steps in quietly wearing her gray
apron and sleeves pushed up, focusing on
certain tasks. She hasn’t blushed the leaves
or frosted the lawn; but instead tests the earth.
Her fingers pinch the soil,
and measure the length of feathers
scattered near the pines.
The ground is dry and migrant birds
are ready for passage. The wind quickens
with her cool breath. Rain sings in our bones
and a lizard climbs up the wall
taking refuge under the roof
where the old season has left
her tatting in its corners and her secrets
in the cracked stone.