POEM: When You Know, You Know

When You Know, You Know

As the spider hangs her web
and the grapevines begin to rust,
when you smell the ozone
of a changing sky,

feel it on you skin,
see the more dramatic slant
of the sunbeams,
hear the call of migrating geese—

you know.

When you know,
you know.

When you feel the urge
to check for pumpkins and gourds,
when cinnamon and vanilla
chime together in lattes,
when you begin looking forward
to the earlier evenings—

you know.

When you know,
you know.

I’m summer’s child—
beach-wild,
trail rides and tan—

but I’m also autumn’s lover,

with one foot still on the beach,
one foot on the trail,
and my heart turned toward
the evening sky.

That is where the stars come out early.

I count Orion’s Belt,
sip white wine from the Little Dipper
and red wine from the Big Dipper,
wink at Venus and Mars—

and OH—

catch a shooting star,
a scattering of meteors
suddenly twinkling across the dark.

The owls call.

And I know.

When you know,
you know.

Oh, how I love
this time of year
most of all.