Autumn is leaves trim
with gold and canaries,
dappled with red apples
and just dry enough to
c r um b l e
under excited young feet
pounding into the ground.
Autumn is gloved
hands and fingers,
entwined and swinging,
in a breeze just bearable
enough to get away
with a sweater.
Autumn is an end
memory's leaves dropping
like flies and
ceasing
to
exist.
Autumn is a beginning,
spiked black soldiers
lining almost frosted grass.
Autumn is sharing
spicy refreshments to rekindle
friendships
and firey bellies,
overstuffed with pumpkins.
Autumn is late
to rise and early
to rest,
the cool and calm night
dominating bleary and bright day.
Autumn is
my favorite season.