The smell of gingersnaps,apple cider,and pumpkin piewafting through the airin delicate swirlsarm-in-arm with the colorful wind.

The shy sunpoking throughthe wooden armsof a lamenting willow.

Golden dropsof warm sunshinestrewn across the yardsof piled leaves and blades of thin grass.

Quietly,almost silently,the bitter wind and its long fingerspull and wrench at the crackling leaves.

The sighsof schoolchildrenaccompanying the morning fogon the dawn of the first day.

The clouds overheadas gray and lumpyas my grandma’s oatmeal.

A flock of geese, united in song,fly south for the winter.

Shadows trace the geese’s dark feathersagainst the flames of dusk.As I watch them flythe roar of the ocean drowns out my bellow:Why must you depart?

A dove and a nightingalecooing alongwith the caws of a ravenupon the calling of Hallow’s Eve.

Pumpkins and jack-o’-lanternswith wicked smilesglaring at you from doorsteps.

The sweet taste of pumpkin piedancing upon your tongue.

I do not know which to prefer,the beauty of contrastor the beauty of harmony.The last green leafor the vicinity.

The mountain is sighing.Autumn must be near.