• Autumn is a season.
    It is a season in which things seemingly die.
    It is a part of lie and the planet
    itself.

    Gray heavy skies loom ahead.
    A chill cuts through the air like a knife.
    Beautiful yet dying leaves dance loosely in the wind.
    These are its characteristics.

    The trees seem to be on fire.
    Gold, red, orange and brown abound.
    The leaves dance like carefree ballerinas,
    As the wind whisks them away.

    The air is chilled, somewhat like ice.
    The only option is to bundle up.
    It's a precursor to the dawn of ice.
    The sun seems reluctant to shine.

    The birds and beasts wind down.
    Crickets' songs mellow and fade.
    The seasonal vacationers flee.
    Residents huddle in their nests and dens.

    Rambunctious yet innocent children roam.
    Miniature Darth Vaders, princesses and Grim Reapers,
    Tote around bags
    loaded with chocolate and sugar.
    Right now, the ghosts and bogies run rampant.
    They all yell: 'Trick or Treat! '

    The days die down.
    Sunlight is sparse and often missed.
    Moonlight prevails longer now.
    Or more often clouds who threaten all,
    With rain or gloominess.

    Some love it or loathe it.
    Others just don't notice or care.
    Like all the other phases, autumn is beautiful.
    It can be comely or ugly.
    But it'll always be around the bend.