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October’s song

They say October has announced itself
in multicolored appendages
and mornings you cling close to your chest
even as trees drop all modesty.

Nature’s design has always been to promise
tomorrow’s potential even as revolution
leaves us tilted more closely darkness.
So we are marching through the elements

of time, the drums marking days
shorter though I know we will not
slow our tempo. An intelligent child
escapes persnickety leaves one at a time.

The tune this October remains hopeful,
crunching leaves underfoot
a momentary soundtrack. No one will slip
on wet leaves when pushed out of sight.

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Seasons and colors change

We walk this fall day – a few
more gray hairs than last – beneath
the leaves – rusted coppers
replacing youthful greens – clinging
to the only home they’ve ever known,
on the verge of their final voyage, that
rambling trek to what they know not.

This expedition under gray skies
takes us through the misty uncertainty
of that next great adventure, while
leaves search for courage to brave
one last tour – a change in altitude
if not attitude – of the crisp breezes
softening their descent to a new home.

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Bring me fall

Fall birthdays are the best. Balloons
seem superfluous to the colorful, animated
trees – playing backdrop for the festive
gathering of friends and family –
painted with reds and oranges and yellows.
Even the browns feel alive
before jumping to the ground,
smiling to their final resting place.

Give me red of rosy cheeks
bitten by an autumn breeze.
Give me orange of pumpkin patch playgrounds
alive with laughter.
Give me yellow of hayrides hopping
down dusty roads removing harvest’s veil.

Bring me fall. Bring me bewitching days
and crisp nights hinting
at the cold to come, burning
birthday candles lighting the way.

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Fallen leaves

Tucked beneath the fallen leaves,
autumn pokes a head out, unsure about this
particular odyssey as the fire
of one last surprising summer day whirls

among the wind and whispers of
winter mocking healthy pumpkins, waiting
with rotten thoughts of browns
before whites before whatever. For now

I’ll hide myself underfoot among those
crunchy reminders of winter’s ephemeral
whimsy while I taste sunlight’s sweet
sting, dusk closing its eyes at last.

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