talking about the weather

i can see you
standing at the window
veined hand cradling the phone
unsure of what to talk about
except what is familiar
what you can see
the elements of your day
elusive
pill bottles left untouched
bills not paid
slipping out of what you can know
and remember

delighted to hear my voice
you speak of what you know
the corn in the field across the street
the leaves covering your lawn
as they do year after year

the season arriving just on time
reliable
you know
you can always talk about the weather

i am thankful for the world
not for it's beauty
not because it is intrinsically good
or deserves any attention on its own
but because for this one moment
my grandmother
has become alive
and regained control
through the red hues of autumn