Early Dusk

What does the wind know?
Memories of the humid kisses of a summer night.
Tell me, how do those darling buds know to grow?
What is that stirring in the soil, ever slight?
A life beneath the dead leaves, still where they fell.
There's a rich fall feast of sweet decay.
It’s merely a season’s end, not a final knell.
Listen—even bare branches have something to say.
Summer has passed, the colors drained out.
We go in, turn inward at an early dusk
to find a light we can’t go without.
Frozen ground, frozen hearts—in those I trust.
What’s in that weary smile I just saw?
Hold steady, wait for the thaw.