I was gone for four days
and meanwhile the rabbit brush
in the yard have gone gold.
It’s like how my child
was just here on my lap
reading about Aslan
and Skippyjon Jones,
and now she’s across the country
reading Plato and Marcus Aurelius.
What is that scent in the air?
Complex and heavy,
both pungent and sweet,
the scent of how a season
seems to change in an instant,
when all along, the change
was here. Even now, I can
feel it on my bare arms,
the clean cold touch of winter.
It’s not even pretending to hide.