Autumn Dances

Autumn doesn’t rush. It teaches me the art of slowing down.

Sitting sideways in a window seat,
a cushion tucked behind me, book in hand.
Beside me on the little table,
a mug of hot chocolate sends steam swirling upwards.
My feet are wrapped in thick, warm socks,
my shoulders in a soft jersey, that enfolds me in its warmth.

Pumpkins rest in quiet corners, their skins glowing like lanterns.
Kittens tumble after yarn that rolls across the floor.
Beyond the glass, the trees are dressed in fire,
gold, amber, russet- their leaves spiralling down in slow, graceful arcs.

The air carries that earthy, clean scent of autumn,
a fragrance that is both farewell and invitation.
It is the smell of endings made beautiful,
of beginnings disguised in falling leaves.

Autumn dances outside my window,
and I sit here watching,
warmed by small comforts,
grateful for the gentle turning of the year.