All I could hear was the sound of you, raking the leaves.
The fall air hit my face,
smacking the same way the Colorado winter would wreck my Texas bones.
The sun split between the trees,
and I could hear a lawnmower in the distance.
I grinned at you,
like I do, the smile with all my teeth,
and you, almost contemplating-ly,
missing my gaze.
And so the air smelled a bit like cut grass
and a bit like crunchy leaves
and a lot like dry, Fort Collins air.
But mostly it smelled like a new beginning,
also a melancholy end.