The ashfly is winter,

a sign of your resolutions
charcoaling on a to do list,
watercolored in Oregon rain,
an air filled with sea salt
like a blast when you open
the oven door--but the fire
of fall is cold, the coldness
of sparcity--a white canvas,
that list covered in flour,
a million snowflakes spindling,
the snow of autumn,
the hello into winter.