The cold western wind scurry hurries in
while a 4pm sunset languidly paints
rush hour traffic with hues
of gold, of orange, of purple,
of autumn.
A breeze that nips of winter,
cooling hot summer passions;
commanding the tourists away,
ordering local lives to be prioritized.
A wind so cold yet soft sun so warm,
with a glow that reassures;
inviting the holidays to approach
and hibernation mind to draw people near,
away from the fear of being frozen alone.
This is autumn's gift.

Just as sun presents  .  .  .
Time saunters on the cool pond,
  .  .  .  Gifts of dreamy swans.

some of my worst
memories
only happened
in my head.

The concrete heartbeat flutters,
in warm autumn night air.
It is slow excitement filled with the song call of **** and vinegar pups,
the calm saunter of seasoned members,
and the hum of steel fume boxes traversing the veins.
Through a ***** glass of rye I observe.
From habitat to watering hole they glide,
up and down the darkened cobble hills
hand in hand,
smiling, laughing,
lonely;
awakened from a weeks long slumber,
all prowl and prance to eat or dance or find
that one time mate.
Traveling in packs or trudging stag,
all garbed to beg, be it by flashing light or a slit of leg,
that their hallowed ritual hikes will grant them what they desire most;
a forgotten night to always be remembered.

Whilst walking down a hard chosen path,
a boy did spot a leaf.
For in the wind it flirted and danced,
then stole away like a thief.

Give chase he did, this rural lad,
so trusting of the plant.
His mind a race with only one thought,
"To lose it, I simply can't."

A smile on his face, he made with great haste,
he jumped and grasped at the sprite.
At last he caught the petal of gold,
and cupped it from taking flight.

"Have mercy my lord!" the sprite did call out,
"Do handle this flora with care.
A wish I will grant to you fine sir,
If my life you choose to spare."

The boy gave a laugh. " Fear not little sprite,
on my journey I wish not to tarry.
I am called Tom, but a simple woodsman,
the son of one Doreen and Harry."

"And what of your wish? young master Tom."
said Leaf, yearning to be free.
"The trees you come from are mighty and grand,"
said Tom "I wish for their seed."

"To home I'll return with this gift of yours,
placing each in the soil by hand.
Then the years will pass by under my watchful eye,
till a forest of gold does expand."

"A paradise for all man, animal and plant,
shall be your gift to me,
But to make this dream sweet waking life,
I require a bag of said seed."

With a smile of delight, Leaf dispersed into light,
forcing Tom to shield his eyes.
A moment then passed and he peered in his hands,
to see a sack seven fistful in size.

Inside Tom did see, seeds of amber and sunset,
enough to build what he planned.
So he set off once more, now assured of the road,
to bring life to his paradise land.