What Comes Beyond Today

you can tell it is August by
the dry hot air that hangs in humid drapes about the window

the sudden rush of a wet smelling rain that kicks up dust
and sprinkles the ground with leaves too young to really die

you can tell it is September
by listening to the earth breathe
long, labored, heavy sighs
that echo in the tall grass
and moan
in soft surrender
to the days that float away

days that wander
straight into
another season
and are swallowed up into the cloudy skies

you can tell it is October
when I begin to get afraid

wrap up in my dreams
and stare out the window
knowing

winter sneaks up behind the pine trees
crosses the pond
and comes
to find me hiding...