first night of Fall

Standard

chilly air pinching my cheeks
making my nose run unwillingly,
smell of woodfires burning,
sharp clouds to the north pretending
to be mountains in the distance.
dusk, at that moment where it’s
so quiet you can pretend it’s dawn.
provincial, where there’s no matter
of north, south, uptown, downtown.
even the Moon hides in a foggy cloud,
whispering down to me that it’s not the
haze of Summer thats clouding her vision.
it’s as if I can see Summer and her friends
running over the southern horizon where
Fall’s chilly air won’t pinch her cheeks, too.