Indian Summer, Blackberry Winter

She is yelling in a barely audible whisper
Shrill, but comforting
Soft too

Cold, but not bitter
Like peeling ivory –
Waves of chills

I turn my jacket collar up
against her wind,
My back turned to her brunt

It’s when I most know I’m alive
In her quiet
In her intoxicating still

* * *

They always try and break it
Shatter her silence
But she’s resilient and always wins

Though, she doesn’t call it winning
She’s not much for competition
There’s no better or worse

She understands the moon’s
dull light, stoic and unassuming
compared to the glorious sun

She also understands
their insufferable efforts
to try and make a villain out of her