by Kelly S.

At summer’s height it seems remarkable that winter could ever get the upper hand.

Snow in August, are you crazy, in the middle of this melting, hot to the touch land?

The nights are warm and the days of perfection sizzle and bake in every direction.

Like something too painful to remember, we laugh and say it never happened, disdainful.

Put away like sweaters and mittens, January’s icy bluster is reduced to mewling kittens.

We don’t miss the snow and cold until nearly September when summer’s grown old,

When October’s plumage entices us to indulge in the beauty of the coming deluge of

Freezing rain first, then collections of delicate dendrites piled in unique composition.

Alas today I saw it, the first sign of the Maple, the one that confirms my worst fears.

A cluster of fifteen yellow-orange leaves appeared near the top like bright leafy tears.

Too early it came, I’m not really ready to have my greenery replaced with frozen rain.