when her sterling glistens gold, when her scorch burns with warmth, you know, She has come.

underneath her gaze, flowing with Her breath, she adorned a transient shade. her skin, silk, strand fleeting with Her palette.

She comes not in "the solstice", "changing of leaves", or "biting cold"

She is in her clicking of heels, cinnamon wisp, emboldening leather.

She has come to break my fall, so I call her, Fall.