What Fall Brings
Craig W. Steele
An icy breeze now frosts my lawn
and shocks the trees with chilling song.
The summerís past; itís autumnís dawn,
with all that season brings along:
new-fallen leaves that dance and scatter,
like painted sails bereft of ships,
all blown about in rustling chatter
by the wind that nips my lips;
the spicy smoke of burning leaves
that stings my nose to my delight;
the first icicles on the eavesó
those frozen fangs grew overnight;
new harvest dances coming soon,
and hayrides through the clean-picked fields
lit silver-white by harvest moon,
to celebrate the farmersí yields;
big mugs of steaming cider braced
with cinnamon, allspice, and cloves,
or hot and frothy cocoa laced
with marshmallows in gooey loaves;
the sunsets, weak, with pale warm glow,
like pumpkin pies so round and sweet;
orange Jack-oí-lanterns in a row
when kids go out to trick-or-treat.
I love the sounds, the smells, the sights,
the tastes that only fall can bring.
When shorter days make longer nights,
I long to hear the sleigh bellsí ring.