Crisp
smoke-scented air
Swirls
in the autmn breeze
Perfuming
the fleeting daylight.
The
soft wind lifts
Fallen
leaves from their piles
And
they dance across the avenue
A
spontaneous chorus of color
And
metaphor
Reminding
me that the
True
beauty of this season is
More
than its coolness
More
than its color, and
Less
about the falling leaves.
Mostly,
it’s about filling my
Senses
to overflowing
Causing
me to take pause and
Drink
in summer’s wine.
(C)
Susan Mason November 10, 1997
On
a leaf-blown street in Teaneck, NJ