Autumnally

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I know how to get through winter – books and coffee.  It’s a skill.  I don’t think about spring.  I meet the cold and dark on its own terms.  In the middle of summer, though, I worry whether spring will come again.  Autumn reassures me.  Once the leaves turn red, and I see the sky divided by grey and black veins I know:  I am going to make it.

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