Sitting here under the old oak tree
on this red and black plaid wool
I feel particularly fallish.
Fingers poking out the tips of knitted
gloves, I turn pages in my book.
Summer has packed her bags and
taken hiatus to wherever she runs
from fall and winter.
I sip hot tea from a thermos and
ogle passersby, wrapped in warm
sweaters or scarves wrapped around
I savor the feel of the chill wind blowing
across my cheeks, not too cold,
but a definite bite in the air.
Leaves fall from overhead and layer on
my blanket. shades of red, orange, and yellow.
Soon the city workers will be raking leaves with
large tractors and the smell of smoke will
permeate the air as Autumn shakes her head
in the wind and leaves continue to fall.