Poem: ‘The Artist of Fall’

When night awakes sooner,

and the stars become brighter,

fall descends onto the land.

Soon enough, winter will bring its false sand;

until then, the leaves paint the sky

as the trees and wind begin to sigh.

There’s a slight chill to the air

as clouds peer down at the land without a care.

Fall dances with life and death

as it slowly kills the once green leaves.

With this new death, it’ll bring new life.

Fall gently whisks away the last of summer’s

gentle warmth from the land, preparing

the animals for the winter that’s raging

on the horizon, bringing its cold.

Fall paints the landscape beautifully,

throwing yellows, oranges, and reds onto

the portrait, bold blues and purples marking the horizon

as the sun begins to quickly set,

showing the eager stars as they glow.

Fall paints the chilly breeze in misty grays

as it knows the morning fog will paint

the land in a ghostly pale white curtain

that will haunt the mornings

until fall, always the selective artist,

is satisfied with its art.