Soft now the mornings come, cool, enveloping.
Warm drinks while the sun ascends from the horizon, steam from the cup, long shadows.
Like choral voices the green still sings in the vegetation...
the last harvest from peppers and tomatoes.
Children amble off to school while the grass is filled with dew,
sweaters on in the morning and at their waist in the afternoon.
The pheasants are no longer squawking,
young birds travel with mother in long amber overgrowth.
Midday is dreamlike as if summer will never end,
night comes on sooner.
The bonfire of October is planned and stacked in the pit,
a celebration for a good season passed.
The first leaves have begun to fall, memories of youth,
the winding down.
We ready for the long dark in Michigan.