Fall is the word for the season fall is what happens all around,
Leaves float in rhythm as they fall to earth’s surface gently released from a bough.
Gauges display less mercury red lines fall below heights of past days,
Frost crystals illume morning views through the window,
The terrain is aglow from dew that iced where it fell.
Breath takes form in fall’s cool air as you venture outside for the morning news.
The garden a silent memory to its glory days,
When pastel blooms gave promise of fruits to come.
Now even the Great Pumpkin is a memory,
It’s carved, now a ghostly goblin on a porch for All Saints Day.
October about to be history as earth prepares for slumber,
Silence implodes the face of the deep, and land falls into appointed rest.
Nevertheless, ag lands are ablaze with activity golden crops await the harvest,
However, the field is unaware being sound asleep leaving the fruits of its yield.
Soon you’ll see for miles and miles through the leafless branches of a tree,
And over the fields now barren of growth.
But if you squint real hard through the coming ice and snow,
You’ll see it again come alive, but only at its appointed time.