Afternoon the day before we turn time
back. Sun low west of the house, behind me,
paints a palette of fall color across
the lawn, water, dry river grass and reeds.
Cottonwoods half-turned, half-green. Farther
off, maples scattered among the dark firs
on the slope up to the palisades. All
shades of amber anxious to let go, seeping
out into the very air, as if lightened
by time into a memory of itself.
It made me think of you, fading away
as time moves on, but lingering still.
A warm third season here, but turning cool.