Autumn is the time for remembering summer's gentle breezes . . .
the time for crisp bright-colored leaves to fall to the earth below.
All summer long they have hung overhead in lacy formation,
their life-span one short spring and summer,
making room for the new buds to rest during the winter . . .
to bring forth new life in the spring . . .
Fall is a bright and glorious end to their short stay.
Autumn is the time for strolling through flaming country lanes . . .
the time for discovering the beauty that lies within our grasp,
the crisp fall breezes, the bright blue skies, the fiery-colored trees,
their leaves shimmering in the sun like so many golden coins,
the rustles of leaves underfoot,
the hint of the frost to come hanging in the air.
Autumn is the time for the readying of winter's icy breath,
the time for woolly sweaters and softly glowing fireplaces . . .
a time for crunchy apples and freshly popped corn,
a time for good smells from the kitchen,
a time for the gathering of friends before the fireplace,
a time for a drive though the woods, not too long ago, green and bursting with life . . .
now a wonderland of colors to delight the eye and gladden the heart.
Autumn is the time for the city to gather its wandering children
after their summer of excursions here and there . . .
to call them from a broad, to promise them the best she has to offer . . .
the brilliant opening of song, music and dance,
the store windows all dressed for cooler weather,
a breeze rolling in off the river
not quite cool enough to let you forget the summer.