the mornings are now cold
and we stay in bed
as long as we can

rushing through breakfast
stampeding to the car
wrapped in many layers

and then the sun finds
it's warmth and we peel
ourselves like onions

the washing lines
are full of clothes
flapping the in the autumn breeze

and the leaves
are turning into artwork
the days are getting short
I hear the sound of axes
in the fields the birds are leaving
flying up to the north.

all the signs say autumn
all the signs are true
another year is flying by
winter's coming soon