Pallid skies of cloud and mist look down upon the ground.
Reds and scarlet brown, windswept yellow leaves,
Calm the new wind is, whispering across my ear,
a sullen work of words, destined for all to hear.
I wait in this splendor, lacquered between red and white,
the placid white where green once stood.
Oh autumn ‘ternal, bane heat misted cold. This
place between the brightest sky and hardest ground,
Where green remains in a final attention, meshed
with its brethren. Remains before the blanch soon
coverings, not yet to be. Aught fortnight cast in
seamless slumber, before the wicked dawn.
Smell of newly rot lain along the riverbed,
carried in the cool morning air. No chirp,
no dance of wild wings, no chatter among
the forest floor. Only quiet reds, auburn yellow,
gold promenade, lifted from their long thin homes
Luscious green bear the cold bring back
your tall tail stems, happy glades, for soon in
your short future the white will melt, the sun
will blow its heated winds and you shall be
with your brethren again.
Just a simple account of the smells and feeling a Wisconsin Fall has.