The Season Exhales

The World creeks like an old clock as it cools and slows down,
Rested light lingers and thinks of nothing.

The garden pauses, holding its breath before the freefall into decay begins.
Against the grey sky the leaves look as though they could never be anything but green.

Soon Winter will catch on the edge of the breeze,
Until then though, dusty sunlight gilds the day like a tarnished antique.