I like it when the sky is going grey.
The treetops underneath seem surreal,
and looking from upon the hill,
across vacant parking lots,
through chattering leaves on limbs,
and far into the fall horizon,
I seem to see that time stands still.
The wheezing breath of motionless colors,
which, for a moment, almost fade away -
so soft, yet silence speaks to me in whispers.
The grass on the ground begins to sway,
and leaves are swirling everywhere,
falling from branches on tired trees,
then raptured into the glorious breeze.