I opened the door this morning and November stormed in.
It had not been obvious that she was even around,
A week ago, her younger sister, October,
had played older-colder-dress-up
Gave me a start,
but her rustling russet leaves peeking from under,
gave her away.
And when her cloak melted,
November riled up a wind swirling her to the sky.
October was gone.
“Good riddance,” she says huffing to the kitchen for the kettle.
“Too pretty, all gold and garnet and garish last gasp green.
And just not serious enough.”
Dropping her chin to level a look
over her quickly cooling cup she smiled,
“Now we get serious.”