It’s the Autumnal Equinox. A year ago in the grey dawn I went out to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway I was inspired.
Equinox Eve Morn
September 21, 2021
The first few leaves flutter down
from the old, slowly dying boxelder
in the breaking grey light of dawn,
most of the thinning leaves not yet turned.
The vigorous five-trunk silver maple
whose crown enlaces it
has not even begun to turn
nor have any of the other trees
on our small lot.
A wind from the far-off Lake
breaks yesterday’s heat and humidity,
on cue the seasons are shifting.
Like that old junk tree
I can feel myself dropping my own leaves
tentatively but surely.
My time, too, is slipping away.