Fall Is a Brewing

Outside October perches it's little feet upon summer's fading scenery, replacing marigolds with mums and swapping tiki torches for dimly lit jack o' lanterns, illuminating midnight with another seasons mysterious approach and I cannot help but wonder if fall had a heart, to whom would it belong (a fallen leaf, the moon's cycloptic eye, or perhaps someone of human descent) an owl gazing restlessly at the cool, autumn sky seems to be interrogating God with the same, single question who, who, who but no one answers