Pantoum for Autumn Evenings

The wind articulates: offers tree sounds
to our ears, leaves to the ground,
tosses handfuls along the sidewalk.
Pinwheeling colors twirl down

to our ears, leaves to the ground.
Man in a flannel shirt gathers leaves,
pinwheeling colors twirl down.
We know a turn is coming.

Man in a flannel shirt gathers leaves,
rakes a bushy pile, kids flop in bunches.
We know a turn is coming,
we yield to a new season. Our neighbor

rakes a bushy pile, kids flop in bunches,
shouting. Geese hurtle south overhead.
Yielding to a new season, our neighbor
brings us apples in a paper sack.

Shouting, geese hurtle southward.
Purple fox grapes make us pucker. Each year, fall
brings us apples in a paper sack,
tawny and russet, that blush a kiss of frost.

Purple fox grapes make us pucker. Each year, fall
comes colder, darker and we hurry inside,
tawny and russet, that blush a kiss of frost.
The rusty gate swings open, leaves flutter, and fall

comes colder, darker. We hurry inside.
The wind articulates, offers tree sounds.
The rusty gate swings open, leaves flutter, and fall
tosses handfuls along the sidewalk.

Here's to a long day spent roasting peppers, shutting storm windows, and canning the last of the season's tomatillos before they freeze. It's time to get out of denial. Fall is here to stay.