Summer does not leave all at once.
It loosens its hand
one cooler morning,
one empty chair outside the café,
the sudden need for sleeves.

We begin looking for autumn
in shop windows and treetops,
in the first leaf turning
like a small, rust-coloured promise.

Soon, the light will soften.
The evenings will draw us home.

And we will let ourselves be found
by quieter things.

JH