Autumn

A nine month rounded moon peeks down through yellow leaves Its silver fingers count the stacks and rows of harvest sheaves. September leaf-strewn streets lie wet and shining. Mirrored clouds appear above without a lining. Umbrellas lost or bent in battle fly away as shutters rattle. Autumn comes with bellowing noise, disrupting other seasons’ poise. With voice that harbors such a shout it drowns all other voices out. Flannel shirt, woolen skirt no match for winds that biting hurt. Hoods and collars cover scowls crows all echo Autumn howls. Lips warmed with spicy drink on pumpkin days that fade to ink. Protesting hoots of Autumn owls awakened by the farmers plows. The Autumn child: never nature’s proudest; but all agree, she is by far, the loudest.