Approaching the autumnal equinox, the season of the winds, the season of birds on the wing, of leaves of trees loosened and spirits awakened. Animals and children smell fall and feel it ripple through their bodies.
The white of an apple turned into air
is the transparent thin-place of autumn.
Children can smell it in the wind off the lake.
Lawns iced over lively with winter refracted
in splinters of silver and green reflect fall
as the flesh of a good ripened apple
full of winter’s refinement of fruit flesh
and seeds into fire in the trees and gold in her hair.