I like this place.
I like this time of year.
And I like this time of day,
The way the sun reflects so gently
Off the bricks of the buildings across the street,
Not like the brutal sun of summertime.
And on the mountain,
The light casts shades
Into the crevices and dimples
Of the wooded, colored, slopes.
And the hush of Autumn blankets everything
Here on the street with the peace
That only visits once per year.
I want to wrap it up and carry it
Into the cold and clouded
Meager days of winter,
But I can’t.
All the same, it’s precious.
How can I possibly complain about anything
When there are days like this.
