Furnish

The thunderstorm rolls in but thinks better of it, leaves a few showers, cools the air. By the time I go up to the attic to sleep, there's a chill to the evening. They close up the village pool for the summer, neighbors say See you in winter, there's a return to whatever comes next. You are not sure if you are ready. You tell the children stories at bedtime and think there has to be an answer in all the tales you weave. There has to be an end to this yarn. You feel full of the summer nights, of coming back from a pandemic, of gathering rosebuds. 

September is here now. It's time to decide what to make of the flowers you've picked.