Warming Right Up

The leaves and the lichen fell down all around,
were falling right into the road.
Above, turning golden, the blinking bright sun
 was dying, but desperately so.
The light never left even as we drove on,
where time moved us closer to night.
And so we made home as the edges grew dark,
and set a new fire alight.
Now black was descended outside of the house,
and cold with it's chill fingers touched
the invisible air. But we, in these walls
were glowing, and warming right up.