Under seven ducks and a waning moon

Autumn days bite crisp and tart

Sun shoots through trees as they cling to leaves

September falling away.

Day demands we strip from morning-nip

Teasing to a mid-day warm

Grass sure still needs a mowing

Though round the corner, a chance for snow.

Change stirs all emotions

Mysterious in their range

Leaves flirt past, one by one

Stored from summer’s bright

And curved to hold the sun.

Squirrels run and shop mushrooms

Seeming to scamper at will

Goldenrod as tall as our eye

Waving to make us remember

As if we could forget.

A tree full of branches makes discards

Deliberately to strew and scatter 

Gaining momentum day by day.

Today’s game: random solitaire. 

A gradual warning about time

Smell of smoke sings its own tune

Sometimes with subtle hint of marshmello

Lightly laced with spice and apple.

Pumpkin pies cool on windows

Pipe smoke, and dad’s long ago call for “supper time.”

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