New England's First Chill
by MFrost Delaney

It comes before the heat kicks in—
my toes are cold at night,
I finally need a long-sleeved shirt.
The cat curls up so tight.

The leaves turn yellow, orange, red
while squirrels collect their food.
Wild turkeys seem to disappear,
frost, in the wings, is queued.

It’s time to switch the screens for storms,
to have the septic checked,
consider ballot questions posed,
see porches pumpkin-decked.

And when at last the heat comes on,
the baseboards crackle, lift
the heat into the waiting chill—
the warmth is such a gift.

But not before I give my thanks
for these—New England’s best:
the autumn colors! air that’s crisp!
this season’s solstice—blessed!



 

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