The world slows as she

sheds the last of the summer sun;

retreating with the warm weather 

and going out with the tide in the morning,

when the air adopts a chill, 

as autumn toys with the breeze.

I see it in myself, too–

my mirror reflects

the dead ends of my hair 

from the salty sea air 

that yearn to be cut off;

the golden brown of my skin

where the sun last kissed me, 

fading into a milky blush.

We cradle the versions of ourselves 

that die with the season;

they exhale the long held breath

from long summer nights 

in exchange for slow mornings.

Each season gives way to the 

shedding of skin and adorning of

new coats; blindly embracing the 

changing world around us,

in swirling colors and acrylic 

painted skies.