The Crisping Days of Autumn

Petals are withering on late blooming roses My Summer garden is beginning to fade Maples are shedding their last clinging leaves Amber fields are ready for Fall's gathering There's a faint chill wafting in the air. I call it the crisping days of Autumn and the first hint of a seasonal change My pastoral view is worthy of a painting Tomorrow, I'll sketch the visions before me layers of bold colors as I walk down the lane. I hear the wind traveling through bare limbs It seems to be whistling a lively gypsy tune A song that brings out the wanderer in me making me quite envious of geese on wing, honking as they quickly travel south bound. A stag proudly stands atop the hill reigning like a king in antlered crown His warm breath exhaled in a clouded mist Happy he's caught the attention of a doe. Autumn has always awakened the artist in me with its bold palette of crimson, umber and gold Ruffled russet gowns, once adorning tree limbs lay wrinkled and scattered across the forest floor Brushes and canvas await my hand. It's decor is a kaleidoscope of colors From sketches I'll paint Autumnal scenes It's a gift Nature generously offers to me.