"The Senses of Autumn"

I stare down at the lake below me,

Resting on my perch above.

And begin to see the sights of autumn,

All ancient to my curious eyes.

The lake water is rippling so tenderly,

Pushing along the brightly colored leaves,

The cattails are swaying slowly,

And there's a piece of driftwood caught on the dock.

The dock is old and quickly rotting,

But, is none-the-less remaining sturdy,

It leads out to a small boat house,

Which, unlike the dock, is slowly falling.

I look across the later a little further,

And spy a mountain covered in trees,

The are different; red, yellow and green.

There's unaffected ivy on each and every trunk.

The leaves, they have a certain pattern,

Green at the bottom, crisp and light,

Yellow in the middle, bright as sunshine,

Red at the top, dark, and forceful.

The sky is dark, and filled with clouds,

The clouds are moving quickly by,

Without a worry or a care;

This is how they thrive.

A small squirrel, collecting nuts,

Runs down the pathway, towards the dock,

He doesn't see me, but I can see him!

As he hops from the stones to the ground.

A wind chime,

Slowly making music…

Calming yet exhilarating,

Relaxing and blissful.

The wind is whistling in the leaves,

Making cattails splash the water,

Making tree branches scrape together,

And carrying sounds from far and near.

The scent or morning dew all around me,

An aroma of burning wood on my clothes,

The smell of fresh pine firewood.

The essence of show right beside me.

A taste in my mouth,

Cool and crisp,

Overwhelming is you must,

Like sweet yet spicy apple cinnamon.

The freezing wind is numbing my fingers,

Stinging my rosy cheeks,

Burning the tips of my ears,

And making my legs shiver.

It's starting to rain,

There's a few drops on my jeans,

Also wetting my hair,

And making it impossible to write.

When this precious season rolls your way,

Don't ever take it for advantage,

Just remember, 'natural beauty'. And enjoy,

The Senses of Autumn