Cusp Of Seasons

At

First amused

Now crazily perplexed,

There was something easy

And comfortable about her,

Like he had known her forever,

Yet haunting at the same time,

Like the melody of the turning

Leaves of summer meeting the

First falling leaves of autumn,

Amid the whistle of the wind

Swirling and spinning them

Around in a magic mix of

Freefall and wonderment

At what the hell

Was happening

On the cusp

Of seasons.

Stephen Nesbitt ©