I smile up

At the vibrant trees

And it seems like

They're smiling back at me

The wind flits about

And teases my hair

I'm so happy

I leave behind my cares

I close my eyes

So I can hear

Those autumn sounds

Because autumn is finally here

I feel something

Brush my head

I open my eyes

And amongst the orange and reds

A yellow leaf like the sun

Shines bright

And smiles up at me

With its vibrant light

And even though

Autumn has just begun today

I know I'll be sad

When the autumn leaves go away

And winter comes and autumn leaves

Two minutes to six and I can't ignore the heavy drops of rain tapping my car like a full set of fingers on a keyboard or God beating out a tune in a rhythm I'd have to be God to understand. These are taps I find more distracting then the velvet snores of my wife two minutes to midnight. This morning I am sleepless in Stafford. Last night I was sleepless, too, maybe because grading and lesson planning has me taking caffeine pills at 7 pm. Or maybe it's an anxiety leftover from Hurricane Harvey. We all seem to be shivering these days at every storm-sign. Fall's coming. Fall's here? Difficult to tell away from the screen of my phone and the expedited flings of a google search (Google: the best way to bing). Nor can I look to the skies or stars. Man peers down at the glowing milk of phones while the Milky Way hides behind fog and musk and must and smog. Houston doesn't do Fall right. We don't have the crooning red leaves swirling in ancient tempos or the yellow-orange bracken littering the floor like tossed invitations to some garbageborn small town venue. Houston is slimy year-round, the glitter dulled by knees of moss and Jurassic greens. Maybe the sunsets are a little more red when you're stuck in traffic, but how do you find the beauty when avoiding the Wheels and Winds and Waters? Now Houston rain isn't fingers—it's gray cement pouring against windshields. You can never really escape it, nor the feeling you're slowly falling out of love.

Leaves baked to a crisp

like pumpkin pie crust

go crunch crunch

beneath your feet,

happily they let go

falling down

to litter the

sleeping street.

Fall, fall,

drop down them all

flitter to the ground

until in leaves

I am drowned.

Shiver against

the chilling breeze

it nips my nose

and makes me sneeze

ah- ah- achoo

Puffs of breath

hang in the air

a baby ghost

waiting for a scare.

All in all,

I love the fall

The clouded sky

and playful breeze

leaves that fly

dancing trees;

look up and see

the waning sun

for he brings out

never-ending fun. :)

When the starry days of June have past,

and July has tricked you with it’s heat.

And august has come,

leaving it’s share of scars and scorching the ground with its fire.

In the heat of the sun,

a sliver of frost.

Taming the flames,

cooling the heat,

soothing the burns.

Though fall comes with it’s own price,

I’m still waiting for September.

Crisp apple breeze

In a pumpkin spice sun

Gold medal leaves

Sparkle through rust

The first of the freeze

Brown on the mums

Now naked trees

Bare branches above

Red sunsets tease

Before the grey comes

The dropping degrees

Starting to numb

The ground and the bees

Silence the hum

As the earth goes to sleep

For the cold winter months

Fall arrives slowly, uncertainly.

She tentatively moves closer,

Reaching for summer's green leaves,

Enveloping herself in the last of summer's warmth.

Summer turns to Fall with joy,

"Fall! You're here! Finally!"

They stand together, watching over the world.

But only for a moment.

Summer is weary, she is at last relieved.

"Are you ready?" She asks Fall.

But it is too late.

Summer is fading, and Fall grows stronger.

In a moment she stands alone, afraid.

Summer's vibrant green world reminds her of her duty.

She, with renewed strength,

Reaches towards those happy greens.

Fall's power glows, as the land is transformed.

Green is replaced by yellow, and orange, and red.

A crisp breeze blows,

The leaves swirl through the air.

Yet Fall's time is fleeting,

So short, yet so beloved.

For as her glorious colorful leaves fall,

She sees Winter approaching from the distance.

Fall turns back to her leaves and smiles.

That autumn taught me to gather

the godforsaken heterosexuality

out of myself

pour it right down the drain

flip the switch

watch the metal teeth

crunch bits of me up

and choke them down

That autumn taught me to scrub

my skin

clean

pink and new

squeeze the words and water

out of my hair

and wrap myself up in the cloth

of self love

That autumn taught me to let

those golden words out

drip them off of my tongue

slow and sweet

and hang them out to dry

I'm gay

“Hey, calling to see how you’re holding up?”

“Oh, fine. I’m fine. Just… you know. Well, you know, puttering around the garage.”

The man chuckles. It is loud, but quickly fades and something metallic falls in the background. He clears his throat and speaks again.

“She would always come home and take a nap, it was like any other day. I mean, she was out, walking around. We were window shopping after church then came home. She looked at me and said, Honey, I’m going upstairs to lie down. I looked at her, you know, said, OKAY. That was it.”

A leaf silently breaks away from its home in the gentle breeze that drifts through the man’s yard. It sways soothingly back and forth as it falls amongst its brethren upon the moist grass. The man sits on a stool in his garage looking out the raised door, and the four cornered box that in one form or another has always served as his gateway to the world beyond.

A crackle on the other end of the phone breaks the silence only to say, “I know. I’m sorry, Bud.”

The man’s eyebrows lift as if to pull him out from within, and he tells his friend goodbye. His friend asks if he is fine, and a smile forms that none can see, and he replies that he is fine. The call ends with the man saying that he must go inside for he has things to do.

But he has nothing to do. For in his heart, he has nothing anymore.

He slumps at the stool, and continues to watch the season unfold. He puts an old tape in, one that grows more snowy and unrecognizable with each passing day. He sees the pumpkin patch and the corn maze. He smells the crisp apples and warm glaze. He feels the rough yet smooth texture of the gourd between his palms. With the smell of kettle corn in his nostrils he sees her smiling, laughing, twirling, chasing and running away.

He sees her go upstairs, for a nap.

So my reader, when he says he is fine, know this. Know that somewhere a gear has slipped, a belt has snapped, and a cog has worn thin.

For above all, he is not fine.

Leaves--brown, gold, pink, red, orange, and yellow--blending together to form the richest carpet for the forest floor that smells of earth and sky. Trees are aflame with them and it is so hard to realize that the leaves are dying. Dropping one...by...one to the ground below, where eventually they will rot away, enriching the soil so new plants can grow come spring.

There is beauty even in death.

#fall

#leaves

#challenge

#death

#beauty