The wind blows and the leaves swish.
A shooting star, make a wish.
A fragrance fumes off of a blossomed flower.
Beauty exists in the darkest hours.
The chilli nights grow longer and the leaves begin to die.
Spring chickens are now ready to fly.
Winter is closing near.
I hear a homecoming cheer.
Light the wood stove and snuggle around.
Tell a bedtime story till the children are not a sound.