It’s a tranquil lake that licks the shoreline,
of a summer sent packing. Lacking much
in the way of seasoning, but anxious for the season
that approaches. It can be heard in soft sounds.
Not rambunctious and raucous; more tip-toey
and alluring. Stirring the paint pot with
a broad brush, coloring the landscape to offer
certainly envision the splay of oranges and golds,
Autumn is brewing. Not with an extravagant entrance,
but with a warm nuzzle; a comfortable caress.
Hear it in the whistle of wind. Listen to the rustle of the leaves.
See it in the palette of the Grand Master’s artful stroke.
Embrace the whispers of a serene and assuring nature.