That time of year again,
When the grass bares a light crisp,
The trees stand barren,
Air into sweet smelling whisps,
Of a season so fragile,
It comes and it goes,
With birds flying south,
Families coming home,
It's that time of year again,
Time to go home.

When I describe the air in the current season I never have the words to Articulate This feeling
Fall
Autumn
Harvest
All hallows
A Season To Be Thankful
The corn
ready to be cut
Or perhaps molded into a maze for the little ones
Pumpkins
Full of spice and flavor for you to smell
Or maybe just to be severed for your porch
The air
Is crisp, refreshing
When you say “it’s nice outside,” this is to what you refer
Is nippy, full
On the edge of Sweaters
     On days I have time I like to lay in the center of the field after practice and breathe
      The air restores my soul, my hope
If nothing else, I love
The air

IF NOTHING ELSE I LOVE
..THE AIR
.
and maybe you:)