Mystery and Silence

It is darker than yesterday, the sun
two minutes behind schedule and
unable to break through the haze. We walked
beneath grey clouds promising no notice
in deciding to rain or blow away.
The blaze of color skittering about
ditches and across lawns has turned to rust
and sienna, mud-brown damp and clinging
to pant cuffs; the sparkle simply raindrops
mixed with dew glinting in the light cast by
street lamps yet to go out. Our own shadows
dance alongside us, barely visible.
Such a morning holds mystery and silence,
as if taunting me to wake within it.