My favorite season

lasts me

all winter long,

so I have gone out

from within

to spend an afternoon

with her

before a downfall of

icy crystals

mélange with red and

golden leaves

crisp under thick socks,

hiking boots,

before the last of her

hangs there

like from a thread—

sassy leaf

flirting about mind

over matter—

not ready for the

twirl down

to where I am waiting

hands out

like a child.