Autumn fans its flaming torch across each turquoise hill.
Drifts of swirling, ripened leaves fall
in a kaleidoscope of coral, amber, gold,
to form a mat for moist, decayed compost mold.
Softly the pale yellow filters from the rising sun,
effervescent with dawns early chill to
warm shaded paths,
the open flaxen field
heavy with pumpkins, wheat,
Scarecrows sway as they peer at farm hands bailing hay.
Birch trees stand white washed above a tangled brush
surrounded by disrobing maples, oak and walnut.
They lend a blend of fantasy to morning’s muted hush.
Bold, the advent of day splashes the lightly frosted ground
with burnished color, bombastic and gay.
Harvest brings a melancholy composing its own song
with sound, sight and pungent smell.
Somewhere an oven’s yeasty odor tells such a tantalizing tale.
Lingering thoughts of yesterday fill our hearts,
but not for long,
because beauty is today.