Peaceful days of languor grow short as
tattered scarecrows gaurd barren fields of
decaying stubble, enveloped in hazy, shifting fog.
Afternoon shadows are soon swallowed
by twilight's gleaning.
Moaning, the chill wind of night
dusts a faint pumpkin frost,
and leaves tendrils of morning mist
that slowly dissipates under the
Indian summer sun.
The aroma of burning leaves
mingles with the musty odor of rot.
Trees on fire with earth tone colours,
dry, rustling husks on branches akimbo,
fierce shadows of darkness.
Tangible spirits of the night
merge with flesh ghosts of the living,
silently screeching in wild abandon,
drawn to the pagan music of
All Hallow's eve.
The hollow knell of evening church bells
hangs ominous in lonely gray air.
Autumn, feral harbinger of winter's perdition,
autumn has ravished the summer
under October's baleful moon.
