I FELT THE CHILL THIS MORNING
I saw the tips of the ferns.
curling into brown shades in a forest meadow.
I heard a wind high in the pines.
I heard voices carrying on the cooler air.
I caught the scent of pine smoke from a stove or chimney.
I felt the glow of the sun as our earth slanted away from its rays.
I sensed a season coming that brought sweet melancholy.
Quickly now will come thin white blankets of frost,
Yellow oak leaves framed against moist black limbs.
Indian summer will tease us for a few weeks.
then mists skimmed off cloud tops will wander through our days.
Wood and corduroy will hug our necks and wrists.
The aroma of meals simmering for hours will fill the corners of the rooms.
Spices will tingle our senses.
The snap of apples.
The musky smell of cut pumpkin.
The taste of cold cider.
Children’s rosy cheeks.
Short glowing days.
Long dark evenings.
Pungent sticky pine sap.
Cleanly split logs.
The violin sounds of summer move to the deeper melodies played upon the cello of fall.