fALL fALLING*

I got a weft of autumn through my bedroom window this morning, 10:48 to be precise. Although the sun is shining and the sky is ferried blue, I can feel the encroachment of fall falling. An autumnal forewarning of cold-snaps and wind-chills, snow-banks higher than Babel, shovels hove with gravel and sand, a catatonia of ice and sleet. When I was a boy growing up in Montreal the snow snowed snowing, groves and runnels of snow snowed higher than a young boy could heave over bank and hedge. It snowed until there was no more snow and the windows froze shut, my face pressed against icy-cold panes, a shiver scuttling down the runnel of my back. Fall is falling, an autumnal forewarning, a wefting.