I love Autum because the half dressed trees are radiant.
The way one imagines an older fat woman is, who is content in her skin
and how she has used her body.
Honored it in the using of it.
Something lovely in her bones, which are concealed, and in her eyes.
Seasons of fall and spring in the crevices of her smile.
Winters frost left behind on her head, a mountain top where holy things happen.
Branches or bones rejoicing in even their losses.
A foot tapping in the air, her head tilted back.
Light winds slide through her fingers
and auburn leaves go airborne
having forgotten already what it was to be attached.