The chill is back in the air,
that crisp breath that takes me,
forces me into old memories:
every year back to school.
I don't want to miss it,
to learn to live in nostalgia:
a sad oak remembering its first leaves
and the solemn autumn that took them.
I am at home in the chill
after all those recesses outside,
all those long walks after school
to friends who said they understood.
And just like a dog who sits
when their owner reaches for the treats,
I remember my school days
when summer reaches for winter.
-Zero
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