I watch fruit wither
In the garden without you
There is no harvest

I'm all too conscious of the change,
nothing strange, and nothing never felt before
not a shock,
perhaps the clicking of a lock
the subtle closing of a door,
a key has turned,
that well worn latch is dropped once more,
on what is done, a green and fertile time,
I hear the chimes,
which ring and sing a tune I know full well,
a tolling bell
for autumn

A familiar smell
Brewing from the orange sky.
A cup of tea.
Leaves start to dry.
Felt on me -
A breeze - so shy.

It’s the last day of August and,
the scorching summer has been lost.

The nights sky’s vacation is off break.
Sunsets are falling closer and closer to the night shift’s power trip.

As the cold wind blows, the fire extinguishes.
Autumn’s life for the moment, all we can do is nothing, but enjoy it.

Raking leaves--walnut, maple, mulberry, ailanthus--
I saw how it was.

My dog Molly--sweet, skittish, a rescue--
knew the Aussie was the favorite.

She hid his favorite toy in a pile of leaves,
but not well enough--I saved it.

When we were finished, all the leaves at the curb,
the toy was gone, second time the wicked charm.

When you lose something--you lose the place you were
when you first saw it, who you were with, what you were doing.

Fragile things can fall and shatter and when you see them broken
your heart can break a little too--and there's nothing you can do.

I am thinking about broken things, lost things, hidden things.
The leaves have fallen, grown again, fallen again.

My Aussie is gone and the pure clear blue of September sky,
the lofted toy, and Molly too, have all passed.

Today I sit outside, careful with the mug on the chair arm,
even knowing that everything--and I as well--will fall in time.