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Book of Days

BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY

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September 10: Chill

Kristen Lindquist

Although I went to bed last night in my full-length pajama bottoms and fleece pajama top, I was freezing this morning when I woke up. My cat was curled close against me; it was hard to say who was huddling tighter against whom for warmth. For the first time in months, my husband had closed the bedroom window. As I dressed for work, I put on a wool sweater. For the first time in months, I made a cup of hot tea. Crows swirled around in the brisk breeze, black silhouettes against a dour white and grey sky. The maple tree outside my office window, the one that always turns a few weeks ahead of the other trees, already shows a few reddened leaves, as if red-faced in this chill. I'm sure we'll have more warm days ahead--we usually enjoy a lovely Indian summer--but these first ones in which we feel the season's shift breathing cool air down our necks, these can be a challenge.

Closed bedroom window
keeps out cold but mutes birdsong--
slow reveal of fall.