秋

Now the light grows dim
Earlier than it once did
Only days ago;
Glowing beams that filter down
Warming, though the air feels crisp.

*   *   *

Ruby-red and gold,
Orange, yellow, russet brown,
Leaves from high above
Settle on the woodland floor
Like a rug of jeweled tones.

*   *   *

Smoke from burning leaves
Wafting through a bright, blue sky
Inky to the eyes
Now wakes up a different sense
By evoking scents of fall.

 © MMXV Douglas P. Kendrick, all rights reserved