The deeper we drift into autumn, the air tastes crisp and fresh Like the brown and gold and maroon leaves Beneath our feet Not like the heavy, thick, sultry air of summer That’s warm and sticky – No, that moment, befallen into memory Air, wind, breeze, and space makes us lose water quicker We are drier now and draped in chunky scarves With hot tea in oiled hands Lungs, they have roots Anchoring our brisk breath now As we roam towards the winter of our lives