In October

Gray mist hangs on morning’s dawn
in gauzy sheets like curtains drawn
across a weathered foggy window.
The air is cool, crisp with the scent
of dew-soaked grass and leaves spent;
down they fall, a kaleidoscope.

Hues like fire blur across the sky
as crisp winds rattle limbs on high,
like brittle bones among the trees.
As the fog flees in sun’s light,
a silk spider’s web spun last night
shutters gently in the breeze.

The chilled morn of autumn whispers
eats away at summer’s whimpers
until, finally, the season’s shift:
the golden hues of afternoon
change to nighttime far too soon…
and gold, brown, and scarlet drift…

Day by day, the days grow colder;
like embers fade to ashen smolder,
broken by the warning of winter’s cowl.
Night by night, the nights grow longer…
with the change, we grow more somber.
October is upon us now.