Autumn Falling into Winter

In the bathroom, right next to the mirror,

is a window I turn to, the act of shaving

such routine, a habit now that doesn’t require

watching myself, nor the gray hairs multiplying

even as they recede, a familial trait

passed down from my father and grandfather,

from a long lineage of old farmers balding,

and turning away to the window, I watch instead

the season changing, autumn falling into winter,

the leaves letting go to fall, to drift, leisurely

gliding down in the morning breeze,

a light wind stirred up with the moon’s setting,

tucking itself over the horizon on the western shore

as the sun rises, celestial bodies opposed,

the patter of their falling, the scrape of dry

on dry, leaves blown, mingling, too,

with the song of chickadee and nuthatch feeding,

calling out, a morning reminder of life’s cycles

letting go to rise again, feeding my soul,

readying myself for a new day, a new season,

autumn falling into winter in the morning breeze.