The crisp sunlight falls on the ground dappled leaves
Yellow and golds look up to those on the trees
Where half job of the foliage's trip to the ground
Not swaying, is breathless, no utter of sound
Distant music from nature not normally heard
When the wind sweeps the sounds to a jumbled-up blur
Today’s all awareness, all subtleties heard
And nature whispers it message in word
The warm Sun is clinging to the last of its days
Where the Sun is more crystal than hot summer haze
The air is so light, like whipped cream on a shake
Its sweet, its fluffy and a slow drink we do take
The shadows are sharper, the tree branches stone still
A million leaves, none dancing, no painting can fill
Artist’s struggle to brush this snapshot, so real
We get one, maybe two days, each year of this thrill
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