Towards the end of the day It's impossible to situate The sun in the sky A source to the light Looks like it's sliding Out of the trees And into the breeze Cool and inviting Claw-shaped leaves Last to hold on This far along in the year The air, silver and clear Bed of pine needles You tread, my dear Go to the lake Still as a plate Wait 'til others leave To dunk your head in Freezing water Trickles down your cheeks And into the collar Of your apple-red coat You walk ahead and I note It is apple, Apple-coloured red And all the ways the light Dances round your head