Barefoot in cool grass
Still damp at midmorning –
Autumn is coming.
The mountain, breathless,
Awaiting its first snowfall,
Basks in autumn winds.
Sun sits lower now,
Frost waits on the horizon,
The last leaf lingers.
The lawnmower plods
Through grass, dry leaves, early frost
The last time this year.
A squirrel watches
As I rake up fallen leaves
Then it disappears.
Leafless trees in crisp air
Tendrils of wood smoke rising
To greet the first snow.
Pumpkins are fat, ripe
We free them from their dry vines
And carve toothy grins.
Spider’s web woven
Between maple and fence post
Captures sunlit dew.
