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