It is Fall.

Autumn sheds her golden sleeves,
skirts swishing softly

Her sunset stained fingers
slather the world in orange,
clean, crisp lines that capture the
crunch of leaves on canvas,
dabs of brooding blue,
bright, bold strokes for the brick-red
walls where the dormouse scampers.

art and wind;
Art, and wind.

do you hear the seasons
changing?