A CLEAR DAY IN AUTUMN

The crescendo of the summer sonata
Fades away in a few quietly sonorous
Bars of music; the intense blue of the sky
Paves the way for a lighter blue of azure Hue.
The branches of trees get ready to wear
Autumn colours--golden yellow and red.
Leaves decay and fall, loosening their tie
With the earth-brown, gnarled branches,
And sing their swan song, as they keep Falling through the air, one by one, or in
Hasty flurries of red, yellow, gold and brown; the leaves fall and the colours
Of the trees lie discarded on the grass
And on paths like delightful fairy dresses.

Little creatures make it their business
To find safe, warm niches in the woods
Where they can sleep through the
Cold, hard days of winter, which is only
A few rainfalls and gusts of north wind Away.
Squirrels love the heaps of leaves; they
Hide acorns and nuts that they glean,
For the days of deprivation bearing down
Upon them--the menace of winter Imminent.

There is no season quite like autumn.
The spirit of autumn waves her magic Wand, and the wealth of harvest mingle With the heaps of red-gold, yellow leaves
Fallen on the ground. Farmers harvest
The fruit of their labour, and leave light Yellow stubbles of ripened stalks of corn
To turn brown under the mild autumn sun.
The tiny sparrows and finches and other Birds take their fill of the grains left Behind. Haystacks dot the cornfields with Warm yellow--a sign of the bounty of autumn. women evening gowns

Autumn is the season of fruition and Gathering of the rich wealth of the soil.
Autumn is generous to those who toil.
Autumn is fulfilment, heartwarming in her
Faint fragrance filtering through my Senses--the fragrance of apples ripening In the quiet sun and cooling evening dew.

Autumn stars are milder; the autumn
Moon at night spreads a yellow glow
Over the haystacks standing guard
Amidst harvested fields and left over golden grains, left for the little creatures
To feed themselves on their goodness.
Autumn is a minor goddess, a Ceres,
And a love song of endless sweetness.
I would so love to be a wooden fence
Around a cornfield with trees in it, in Autumn, looking at the sweep of a calm
Village road, where at each bend autumn
Holds a show of colours and a muted Melody that lulls all clashing thoughts.