Late Upon a Fallen Season

Frost crinkles late blooms, a lacy white netting invades upon a morning haze. Fall sheds itself, undrapes heat discarding warmth in leafy twill and tissue. Later the sun will counterattack the chill will melt upon a tepid winds still gilded breath, yet a shade of winter is moving, weaving itself into the mud and earth, it is tracing a chill unseen river and where that cooling pauses the living must find cover or pass away.