Autumn Sonata

Leaves spiral down to the cold ground.
Whirlwinds take
Luscious reds, golden yellows, and vibrant oranges on a wild
Flight on the wind's evanescent wings.

Two Mourning Doves move closer to each other,
Feathers puffed to keep them warm and cozy.
They can feel Winter's cold, icy breath
Tickling at their necks.

Almost as if Her snow white lips
Were forming to let a joyous laugh
Escape from behind them,
Echoing off the half naked willow trees.

Bouncing from wall to wall
Like loud ringing church bells
Sending shivers down the minister's back every time they toll.
These silver bells thrive to sing their hypnotic sonata.


The buoyant sun perched in the sky,
Observes the metamorphic scene below.
His fervent rays wash over one's skin
Comforting the shivering traveler
As his red, bare feet crunch in the white dust.