End of summer for sure - Version 1 - Sad

Written by: Judith Angell Meyer

Looking out my window this 38 degree morning
I saw that:

The bushes are weighted down
with the moisture;
the droplets on the verge of
morphing into ice;
hunkering against the cold.

The weeds are dead and stiff
with the end of a dry season;
now wet, turned into intensely
deep shades of brown
and ochre.

The tall un-mown grasses
are matted down
by fallen leaves,
saddened by season's end
and wet with shiny tears.