The dry crunch of a dead leaf crushed underfoot
The season's first, I make sure to step on every one
Leaving behind a soft brown dust
For the growing winds to blow away

Autumn: leaves in orange piles
Huddling for warmth by the garden walls
The cold that climbs your spine
As you walk through the night, beautiful and alone

The reluctance to go inside, as your hand stops
On the icy metal of a door handle
The redness of her cheeks as she laughs
And you stare in tortured love