As the wind blows from the west to the east,

I sit under the wooden gazebo,

Where it holds a numerous amount of green rusted picnic tables,

Autumn leaves hit the cement and scrap the ground. 

While I look at the trees I see a multitude of colors,

Some have leaves as red as fire with others being a faded yellow.

As they fall, the leaves curled bodies get carried through the wind.

The wind carries the sound from the highway nearby,

Where motorcycles, semi trucks, and cars screech to their heart's content.

The sounds drown out the birds in all their capacity,

Leaving a windy park drowned in noise.

For now the park is quiet and cold,

The playground equipment lay bare and empty.

The birds have retreated back away’s to nearby trees outside the park,

As the ground hardens and the trees are shed their leaves outside-in.

Until summer the park hibernates,

The birds cuddle for warmth in their nests,

While the squirrels feel ease with their buried nuts.

As the cold air rushes by the warmth of the sun reaches me,

It feels more comforting than a bed.

The cold wind ever growing signals me too leave,

The rustling of leaves follow me home,

And as I open the screen door It’s like I’ve stepped into a new world.