Autumn, without Summer's knowledge or consent
Early this morning, under cover of fog, went
out tinting some flora; whispering, "Hurry!" to fauna,
For days of steaming in Summer's sauna
Are passing quickly, and Autumn's sweet brush of chill
Foretells piquant Fall colors and the need to fill
Pantries and jars and underground spaces
and caches with bounty from various places.

We're grateful this day for windows flung wide
And the cozy sweater for which we sighed,
For simmering cider and pumpkin displays,
All thanks to the Father who shortens the days.

And Autumn, if Summer catches hold of your sash
As you run toward the equinox in your mad dash
Just slip off your apron. That's what I would do
If I were the one racing toward 9/22.