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The kitchen floor reminds my feet
It is not August any longer

Leaves fall

Mornings are progressively darker now
though the glow of streetlamps is brighter through abandoned trees

Leaves fall

At first they are flying; windsurfers
Then they lose interest, settling on the sidewalks
Gangs of them loitering under benches and mailboxes

Leaves fall

Cold breezes will carry away their evidence
Soon enough

Leaves fall

Summer fades into autumn as watercolors do
A delicate transition

Leaves fall

Winter is open and shut
Her pallet, black and white

Winter comes


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