:: Summer, to Autumn ::
As the weather shifts from the blazing summer heat,
Into the tepid indifference of the approaching autumn,
The city comes to a standstill; inanimate, silent
At least from the twenty first storey of his hotel room.
He notices the windblown plastic bag that billowed
Against the white sky, rippling like a jellyfish,
The same jellyfish he'd read from Michael Cunningham.
He ruminates about the distance of Autumn
From Spring. And he wonders, on what would it take
To turn the leaves on the trees, in the park under his feet
From green to orange
And then, to nothing.
