When a grimulous wind rustles leaves past your feet
with the scent of a fire you can’t see,
and the moon, cheddar-bellied, hangs golden and low
making shadows where they shouldn’t be ...
It’s the crossroad of seasons,
not summer, not fall,
but something between-ish and strange,
when nothing is certain, except for one thing:
Everything’s going to change.
Season of Change
by C. L. Clickard
text © 2019 by Carrie Clickard
IT IS NOW—
OF “GRIM” AND