you can't stop what's coming

it's the kind of wind

that blows

your hat off, 

making you chase

it down the street.

it stiffens flags,

frees at last,

to the ground,

the clinging

autumn leaves.

it's the kind of wind,

that sends a chill

across your skin,

turns your cheeks red,

makes your eyes wet.

it's the kind of wind

that forces you

to lean into it,

as you button up 

for what's

coming next.