Autumn forgets to leave before winter arrives.

She lingers at the edge of the field,

apron full of leaves and sunlight.

her breath still warm with cider and smoke.

He finds her there, quiet as frost,

hands full of pale light.

“You’re early,” she says.

“You’re late,” he smiles,

and the air between them holds its breath.

Snow begins to fall,

soft, uncertain,

resting on her copper hair,

a few moments to reminisce

before the world turns white.

She laughs, the sound like crackling fire,

and for a moment the world is both

ember and ice.

Soon she will go,

leaving her gold in his care.

He will keep it safe

beneath his white silence

until she returns again.