Pure Gold....

Fall is in the air.

In the morning, I hear it's whisper.

Gold begins to take the landscape,

Touches of crimson 

Kiss the trees.

The morning sun rises

Through veils of 

Drifting fog.

Autumn is gently approaching.

The promise of cool,

Of color,

Of chilly nights and 

Crisp days.

Apples and pumpkins

Brighten the days before

The dark and cold of

Winter.

It is a sweet smell,

This, the passing of another year.

Mingled aromas of leaves,

Earth and harvest.

Sweet upon the palate.

Delight upon the eyes.

Welcome to the colors of fire,

That dance wildly

For too short a time.

Before the whites and grays

Of the earth's long

Sleep.