Yellow leaves and autumn reds,
Deep, dark green and holly-heads,
Russet sunshine through the glade,
This is how the fall is made:
Sometimes rain,
The lightest sheen,
Patchy sunlight,
In between.
Always cold,
Breath plumes of smoke,
A warm, warm fire,
We'll have to stoke.
Frosty ground,
Deceptive ice,
Who believes...
... That autumn's nice?
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Lush green leaves turn to copper, amber and gold. Floating down to the ground as the Autumn wind blows. Red Japanese Maple trees unleash their fiery tones.
Blissful crunch of. Leaves underfoot,. The texture of. An autumn walk,. Umber, orange,. Red and gold,. Burn against. Blue skies with. A hint of steel,. A little chill. Blown in from. Winter's future,.
I open up the cobwebbed door, As a hurl of cold wind attacks my face, I step outside onto the squelching doormat, And set my eyes upon this 'November place'.
Red and burgundy leaves floating gently down,. Summer no longer wears the season crown,. Autumn falls, a serene orange haze,. A burst of colour through the coloured maze,.
Lie us down. In fields of green. Admiring dew. In its fine sheen. Chasing sand dunes. Laughter. Smiles. Coldest flesh. On coldest tiles. Warm warm showers. Hot drinks and food. Winter's coming.
This leather sky is a passport for frosts Inked by wheeling crows. Summer, absent-minded as it goes Scatters gold behind to cover costs.
The earthy smell that's underfoot, The night that draws in cold. The spiders that seek refuge here, And sit on carpet bold. The berries ripened in the hedgerow, For birds and child alike.
From the arc of rainfall from the sky, To all the birds southwards up high, To all those early mornings, dark, To the absence of that singing lark.
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