Crisp,moist air,a hint of chill tell tale sign of winters soon arrival.
Not just yet nature has not quite readied itself,
wind blows dry leaves strirring them only a little,
enough to create a gentle soothing rustle,
One by one trees discard thier leaves to travel to where ever the wind chooses.
Crisp under foot,or afloat on a still pond.
Subtle golds and browns cover damp musty ground.
An occasional thud startles,as a dying gift meets earth.
A distant dog echoes his surprise as leaves are brought to life on a gust of air.
stay a while ,a little longer?winter stays too long.
Icey blasts discouraging,bleakness uninspiring.
No more morning walks.

This poem was written/submitted by lynne hannah cannon.