Floating breath.

Autumn officially ends with the cold wind now chilling the window glass.
I breath out smoke but still I see my breath pass the sensor light and fade away into darkness.
I always wonder if it's warmth carries it higher than the treetops or if it touches the clouds.
Does it circle the earth forever or dissipate and die of the cold?
As midnight crawls into dawn not a lit window can be seen in the surrounding houses.
Silence is Winter's proclamation.
Cold is it's controlling hand.
Darkness is it's atom bomb.
Soon the last leaf will lose it's grip and leave the brittle branch from which it came.
Cracked and dry this shall be it's final resting place.
Til' nothing but dust remains.