Sleight of Hand

Fall does not fight

The battle that Spring does

With sluggish and greedy winter

Summer is lazy in its own heat

And will typically share a stroll

Hand in hand with Autumn

For some small companionship

At the end of his shift

It is that time now

When Fall is just acquiring

Her voice, an audible whisper

Of course she has been around for a little bit

Felt in the occasional chill

Carried sporadically on her soft breath

Seen in the occasional whitening

Of our breath on certain early mornings

But now she can be heard

Without the straining of ear

Or even the effort of tilting the head

Seductively she murmurs,

“Do not be afraid.

I know I precede death,

I know I am the boatman

Gently laying life in my wake

To be swallowed up by

Winter’s frozen current.

But I do it with such style!

I put on quite the show.

So watch,  Enjoy the fireworks.

Bathe in the splashes

Of yellows and golds,

Of auburns and reds,

And pay no attention

To what my other hand is doing.”