The night wind
It carries with it woodsmoke
and curls around spindly, clacking branches,
almost leafless now,
they foretell winter’s cold chill.
The last of a past season’s blooms
hold tight to their stems,
misplaced remnants of warmer days,
their frost-tipped leaves discoloured and withered.
The streets as always
as though holding their collective breath,
while centuries-old trees and homes
witness another silent night.
There is life here
if you know where to look;
a couple walking their dog
are lost in thought and speech and
water leaks across the pavement
a darkened shadow of an earlier event,
A car creeps past a stop sign
and then is gone.
the same as any other,
but now the stage is set for winter
who has only to appear –
she waits on the edges of the night.
As the wind rustles up the street
it carries now, mingled with smoke,
promise of snow.