A Mild and Forewarning Season

Tomorrow hovers, an uncertain ghost trying to recall how to haunt. The calm is over, the leafy drape dropped. Beyond the window sparrows are digging trenches, feathered preppers pecking on the edge of a dim and looming sunset. November peeks out from under a russet and smoky skirt, It is losing its color turning into a pale harbinger, beckoning us into darker dreams. The climate is finding its ice roots, it spooks the blood. Time to shake out the woolens, those bullet proof garments of winter. Tomorrow is coming and it is pulling the dead behind it.