It’s the first cold morning, I see
squash, gourds, pumpkins, kale, collards cabbage, lying ceremoniously
in lines in front of the village store, farmers planting winter crops
under grey skies. When did I start counting every minute of my life??
Old memories blow in with the first chill of winter.
I walk through town, up the back steps of my empty apartment,
to wait for the electrician to come repair my washing machine.
When did I start feeling I was running out of time?
To skirt the woods, to walk through town, to avoid the high
grass, the wildflowers is a loss to urgent necessity.
When I am smelling the cool moist air before winter,
an odor from another world, it is an opening
for loving my loves with the time I have left.