winter always comes
maple and oak coat the damp soil, crackling skin of the earth underfoot.
a leap into a mountain of red and yellow leaves,
dripping nose and flush cheeks
the rake hidden within cuts deep.
you leap again.
autumn’s gentle decay, life still in color.
the air smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and wet,
the phone rings
and mom is crying now.
grandma’s apple pie was always the best.
last year she left the core in, memory lapsed and fading.
winter always comes.
