Autumn Poem by Kevin Scanlon

The air is as crisp as ripe apples and the low-lying sun is dazzling
The clamoring voices of summer are now just haunting echoes
Dead leaves skitter and whirl in the cool wind as if morbidly merry
Blankets of gray unfold in the sky and below it are growing shadows.

Pallid world-weary stars appear sooner and constellations are dimmer
The huge orange moon looms on the horizon as if to compensate
Glowing eerily over the natural recession that will only get worse
But wildlife is still very productive, preparing to avoid a pitiful fate.

Native legend says the blood of a slain celestial bear colors the trees
Giving them their fiery finery that also decorates the listless land
With many windblown accent rugs atop a carpet of resilient grass
Crickets annoy sleepers yet again till brutal winter takes command.

The rich hues and earthy aromas spark memories and reveries with
Fitful gusts of emotion like a west wind blowing through the mind
Scattering thoughts before the creeping cold reaches its frigid climax
In autumn sensibilities can bloom and our true colors become refined.

This is a sublime time of mellow mornings and wistful evenings
A time of festivity tinged with melancholy amid the beautiful decay
A time to harvest the bittersweet fruits of experience without fear
Time shakes the soul's branches, bright illusions fall and fade away.