Flower box

There is a morning at the end of each August when
I awake to see the golden light that announces autumn.

It vibrates off of the late-summer green of the leaves and
turns the sky a deeper blue.

Its warmth is only visual.
It accompanies a chilly breeze.

I wish I could bottle it up and
bring it out again on a January-gray morning.

It is the moment of clarity before
the world dies into winter.