September

The wind changed direction today.
The light is raking across the hills.
The leaves on the trees are now old, dark green.
September is on the cusp of seasons,
Like an inflammation of the joints.
Like the zig-zagging of Romanesque archways.
A place of transition,
A time of rubbing, tension, and friction.
Where life meets death,
Unreconciled, incomplete.

© Caroline Nicholson

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