The trees are not dying,
the leaves are drying
Scattered by ocean waves of wind and broken by standing features
In seas of hay colored grass, they are random crisp creatures
Covering cracked sidewalks, they are thick fields of crunchy colors
Every shade of apple,
Every shade of fruit
painted on sheets of parchment lined with the stories of the seasons of the year thus far
Flung near and far
Rising high and falling low
These are the leaves of autumn
Watch them glow,
fading as they go
Wary Wonderlust 