Repurposed aluminum on the ceiling
abuts the vibrant, calypso-blue wall
covered in an eclectic-chaotic assortment
of mirrors, rescued from who knows where
each with its own personality, but all
reflecting the red and gold trees outside
And no matter where I am,
I always end up writing about the leaves
But maybe that’s okay
to fully breathe in each season
during its brief stay
For soon I will be writing about snow
and long shadows, and these vivid days
will seem like a faerietale
a fiction spun from an overactive mind
trying to escape shoveling.