Dear Autumn,

What brings in the new seasons, I cannot fathom.

Is it the lists

That people pick

That they say makes fall fine?

If everyone has a list, here is mine:

Perhaps it is the branches, creaking in the blustery winds,

Papers held up by orange pins,

Acorns scattered on the ground

Or the lovely leaves that someone found.

Could it be the invitations for fall fests,

The emergence of warm yellow vests,

Or the growing of the yearly harvest?

Possibly it is the dewy leaves smothering the forest floor

Or the pine needles strewn through the entrance door.

What about the fresh apple slices

Or the smell of cooking pumpkin spices?

Is it the sudden suspicion of black cats

Or watching movies like Dracula with bats?

Perchance it is the appearance of scarecrows

Or the readings of Edgar Allen Poe.

Would the rattling leaves have an effect

As you sit out on your summer deck,

The branches quaking in the crisp breeze

You feel in the absence of the bees?

Maybe it is the scarecrow’s hair of hay,

Or the afternoon sun’s bright rays.

Could it be the rows of straw barrels at your local farm,

Guarding the place of the cattle in the barn?

Possibly it is the rumble of the hayride’s wheels,

Rolling through leaves the color of teal.

Is it the clear, starry night

Or the soft jack-o-lantern light?

Could it be the flying witch’s broom,

The haunted house’s terrifying boom,

The leaves looking like rainbow fins,

Or candles burning inside pumpkins?

The leaves swirling higher than the tree name Oak Tall

Could all contribute with some things I love about fall.