The crisp sunlight falls on the ground dappled leaves

Yellow and golds look up to those on the trees

Where half job of the foliage's trip to the ground

Not swaying, is breathless, no utter of sound

Distant music from nature not normally heard

When the wind sweeps the sounds to a jumbled-up blur

Today’s all awareness, all subtleties heard

And nature whispers it message in word

The warm Sun is clinging to the last of its days

Where the Sun is more crystal than hot summer haze

The air is so light, like whipped cream on a shake

Its sweet, its fluffy and a slow drink we do take

The shadows are sharper, the tree branches stone still

A million leaves, none dancing, no painting can fill

Artist’s struggle to brush this snapshot, so real

We get one, maybe two days, each year of this thrill