Late Autumn

The leaves have fallen now.

Jagged and brittle

They tumble across the landscape

In swirling November breezes,

Movements in a symphony

Of gentle crackling sounds.

Winter's embrace is imminent.

We can sense it -

The sun is low and

Darkness prevails.

Soon

The cold, damp blanket of the barren season

Will cling to the skin

And chill the corpus to the bone.

Settle in.

It will be April

Before the trees

Turn green again.

Copyright © 2016 Daniel R. South 

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