I walk through the garden and the spiders take their little elevators up as my shadow touches them.
The chickens cackle in the warm mornings.
The dust and dry air gives me a little sore throat.
I drive under the browning trees.
I reach for a sweater to put on over my nightgown in the morning.
There is a crackle to everything. Henry finds the empty bag of wipes. The leaves under the stroller.
I look for signs, but it's all there at once, no signs, all the signs are just fall.