I can feel the seasons changing
and I don’t like it.
Not this time.
I can feel it in the morning air on my arms
urging me to turn back and grab a jacket.
The chill feels too unfamiliar.
I feel it in the gentle creases on my face
that greet me each morning,
the silver sparkles
that are sprouting on my head.
They surprise me every day.
I feel it in the picture of my kids by my bed,
frozen on a day several years ago
that I can hardly remember.
The leaves that fall on the road
stir my imagination
of ghosts and goblins and
the circularity of time.
But I’m not ready for hibernation.
This year I want to hold on
to the carefree frolic of summer,
of breezy dresses and flip-flops,
and days that bleed into night
as the sun refuses to close his eyes
even as the moon begins her evening climb.
This year I want to stay in