Fall

Today was mild and raining, and the colors haven't really started yet. Still, tonight, it's crisp, chilly and damp: the fall is upon us. It put me in mind of three years ago, when Ben was a baby still, and we saw the end of his first fall from our back door in Port Huron. The lilacs were long gone, and we watched the last of the leaves get blown off by an early snow.

The fall

The last of the leaves
came down this morning
in a blinding swirl
of snow and brown.
My son, dark
as baker’s chocolate
and I, white as oatmeal,
stand at the back door
and wonder
about the fall.

I scoop him up
and run out into
the whoosh of wet
and spin him around.
An orange maple leaf
sticks to his dark head,
a brown one slithers
across my gray hair.

His small white teeth
shine in the purple light.
We laugh together;
fat flakes darken
our shirts, wet our faces
like sweet tears.
Our dark snowy
day begins.
He looks at me
and I hold him
at the end of the fall.