When the leaves turn gold and rust,
I fold my dreams in warmth anew,
As flannel shirts call from the dark,
Soft whispers of unhurried nights.
Down-filled jackets cradle my form,
A shield against the chill trapping thoughts,
Hot totties steaming with my sighs,
In the quiet, where winter breathes dreams.
I step outside to the crisp morning,
Footprints in frost, their silence speaks,
Each sip a warmth to thaw these bones,
In quiet joy, I find my place here.