My Favorite Season: A Lengthened Haiku About
Whispers surf the cooling breeze
Autumn in gold.
Each one a flame on the ground,
Soft in their silence.
Of clouds that drifted past now,
Tomorrow, new shapes.
Fires crack and glow,
Mugs steam with cinnamon heat
Time .
Clouds climb low and wide,
Geese trace arrows through the sky,
Chasing the sun south.
The year exhales smoke,
Earth curls beneath ice and snow,
Fall says its goodbye.
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