If I have a favorite season, I think it must be Fall. Winter is too bleak. Summer too scorching. But Fall is perfect. One October morn I strolled through the woods, trees towering above me, sunlight slanting through scarlet leaves. Leaves. Everywhere leaves were drifting, sifting, swirling, whirling, a collage of leaves: gold, orange, crimson, maroon. And suddenly I had the beginning of a poem…
Trunks massive and round, the trees reach high; Feet planted in the ground, golden heads in the sky.
Yellow, orange and red, glorious colors are on the trees; Beneath their branches is spread, a collage of beautiful leaves.
All across the forest floor, littering the ground, Are leaves of red and orange, falling, falling without a sound.
Here they come, spiraling through the air; Blown off the trees, dancing without a care.
There they lie, through a long winter, Till the snows melt by and by; But their image, is all the more sweeter, in my mind, When I see them dancing, Spiraling through the air; The wind and the leaves prancing, Without a single care.