Not Yet September

Today I saw
some maple saplings
already turning red and gold.

You are too eager, baby trees.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.

Perhaps being so young,
they did not know
it’s still summer,
even though
it is getting colder.

The grown up trees know.
They’re still as green and leafy
as they were a month ago.

Now the autumn chill
seeps through the crack
of the open window,
and penetrates the thin fabric
of my sleeves.

My arms are cold.
Time to take out
the heavier things.

I won’t close the window.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.