Fall jammed its foot
in our weather's door
today. Summer will
make peace with it
three days from now,
but we'll all be uneasy.
Perhaps Summer might
assert itself? Take over
October's start? Push
those eighties at us?
"Eighty is the new Ninety."
But Fall's persistent.
It knows its time has
come. One, two weeks,
no big deal. It can wait.
Regardless, trees will
shower leaves now, birds
will pack their bags, our
storms will turn cold.

How can sixty-some feel balmy,
nice, when Spring reminds
Winter it's time to leave? How?
Remember that while you're
resurfacing sweaters, wool,
long sleeves, rain gear, while
readying fireplaces, heaters,
thermostat settings, while
finding those recipes for
soup, stew, hearty breads.
While dreaming about when
these temps will be welcome.

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85/100
100 poems in 100 days