The Signs Are Everywhere
Along the sidewalk, tucked into the cracks, nestled between the edge and the grass. Under the moss and around the corner. High up on a limb. Rooted down under. In the fallen leaves of golden aspens, russet oaks, and crimson maples. In the twirl of seeds with paper-thin wings. In the gutter of apples becoming hard cider. On the edge of the steps, well-worn and creaky. The signs are everywhere— this is autumn.