the wind and rain have come down on us,
the first real taste of the seasons turning.
migrations patterning across the sky again,
geese calling out to you.
I get why they used to call those who understood their course
soothsayers.
there is truth in their flight, reliability.
the wind in the valley is bringing old songs down from the trees,
the waves white-capped rolling endlessly to me.
but here, i am warm.
the water on the stovetop is laughing.
i can hear you in the bubbles,
which is another gift of the cold.
by my fire, sipping tea full of the sound of your joy,
i watch the wind turn the trees silver
flipping the leaves like coins.
if I squint out into the half-dark,
they almost look like stars.
rain thrums on the roof,
turns my home into a heartbeat
so I am less alone.
the day folds in on itself.
and i am folded into it, 
with your laughter–
and the stars.

~Isabelle