The Fall Equinox
has been
wrapping
itself around my
thick, fragile skin
for almost
thirty-eight years,
smiling as I welcome it in,
blanketing me with
abundance, balancing me
with
fresh fruit from the harvest,
and
encouraging me
to
reap what I sow.
It is because of Fall
that I know
the beauty of devastation
and pain
and magic and goodness,
and what September rain
feels like
as it trickles and plummets
and gorges and sweeps,
nestling itself right where
it's supposed to be,
in between the yellow heat
of Summer, and the
white Winter snow.
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