The leaves in silent fire
are mellowing,
a cool, crisp blaze
before the frost—
the last cracKle, pOp
before Old Man Winter
grays us with his beard.
We watch
as orange and white
petals of autumn suns
l i n g e r
like paper lanterns,
and then
the current
rolls them on—
I snuggle in
close beside you,
sip roasted dandelion tea
dripped with honey in the cup,
and on my tongue—
hoping you
track the scent
and catch me
mid-fall.
© 2014 Jennifer Wagner