Autumn’s Art

Autumn marches forth
to a litany of
wind chimes
swaying in the gusts and
breezes.

Dipping her brush
into a can of frigidity,
she cocks her wrist
and splatters.

Treetops shudder, react,
morph into a fantastic
display of crimson and
gold — swirls, stripes,
patches of all sizes.

Leaves, bereft of their
summer warmth, loose their
tenuous hold on branches
and fall,
drifting.
tumbling,
weaving zigzags
through the sky.

A veritable snowstorm of
crinkling, paper-thin flakes
cover the ground with
shades of saffron, amber,
and rust.

Autumn smiles, blows a kiss toward
summer’s receding back, then
turns her attention toward winter,
and curtsies.

“All shall be ready,” she murmurs,
and gathers the wind for the first,
frosty blast of the departing year.