September winds race down mountain passes
playing hide-and-seek in the trees adding a bite to the air.
Colors come to life in this once verdant blanket of green
and the brilliant splashes contrast with the autumn air.
The crunching leaves beneath my feet as I walk entertains
on the trip to the crystal stream, waiting for a cast of fly rod.
Night falls and only the crackling fire made up of twigs and logs,
scraps of ice cream wrappers and other debris left behind remind
of summer laughter.
Morning comes with chill and hint of frost, chattering of chipmunks
and calling of crows, the only visitors who fly through the area.
But wait! There is a haunting cry in the distance that draws near
as a flock of Canadian geese wing their way through the passes.
What a sight as the multihued birds keep their leader in sight,
wings always outstretched to the utmost on the way to some unknown destination.
Here red leaves dance across the ground trying to masquerade as fire
yet the only true warmth comes from that pit in front of my tent.
I sit down and think back to the time when learning to really love autumn
when life makes such drastic changes and loneliness descends on the world.
With the chill air so deafening in my ears and the remoteness caused by this
dramatic season, I’m convinced here and now is the place to live and die.
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