The air is seasoned.
Leaves color as the sap slows through the vein,
the dying grass's lifted fragrance penetrates-
a sigh lilts my lips, I am contented.The late summer flowers bow to their loss of hue,
trading one display for another.
In the cool morning zephyr,
birds gather,
for the long winter is on the prowl.They swoop and swirl around the tree tops
meeting, singing to the glorious anthem of nature.
Sounds are becoming louder,
from crickets to cicadas.Summer's whining, because fall is insistent.2011 Catfish Snuzie http://catfish9.deviantart.com/
is a much nicer place when you are here.
