I would send you frost from my window pane at first light as we threw off the quilt and prickled at the crisp; I think you must miss this. So I would seduce you anew, and these would be my gifts: cool-blooded blue of morning asters, sweet, wet smell of new cut grass, wool sweater nights and short-sleeved days all gold aslant the afternoon as the chill set into the land. September's wan days will slip away, and I would have you here with me. But the sun is in your blood you said, and your fire, though stoked by change of season would fade as the days paled and shadows stretched longer, reaching 'cross the browning for the freeze. In the cold your quick would slow; my heart knows this as well as it knows your own. But I'd light a fire in the hearth, to keep you. I'd be your heat, for I would have you here with me. Instead, I'll send this leaf, Autumn's first blood, badge of New England. It shall be my Mercury, winging south aflame and fading, to speak for me, to bleed for me: this is my home, and I would have you here with me.