When night awakes sooner,

and the stars become brighter,

Fall descends onto the land.

Soon enough, winter will bring its false sand,

until then, the leaves paint the sky-

as the trees and wind begin to sigh.

Trees swaying in the cold breeze

With all the red leaves falling off the trees

Red and orange cover the grounds

All turning to browns

The world starts to calm

Pumpkin spice 

Orange yellow brown cardigans

Folklore on the radio

braided hair full of leaves

yellow skirts

fluffy scarves

hot then cold 

rainy then sunny

warm toned rainbow

Chilly hands

close to purple,

arms wrapped tight around my chest

like ribbon on a birthday gift,

pillow case gripped tight in my fist

the fist that I can barely move

as the wind flits past my shoulders,

The golden hour,

Light from every direction,

Surrounding and flowing inside you,

That is the feeling of fall.

The crisp air,

Freezing your lungs,

The first thing you notice is the wind. 

The bitterly cold air hits you like the back of a hand 

Reminding you of the approach of a desolate winter

Falling

like the leaves of the trees

that's what my heart is doing

watching as the days start to blur

no longer looking up at the blue sky

instead

I look up at the classroom ceiling

feeling the weight

Every fall

the trees shake off summer

they stretch and yawn

let go of memories of green

sun

heat

children climbing

skinned knees and scabs forming

scars to show

how many trees were climbed

Amber leaves cling
To umber trees reaching
Frayed roots deep into the ground.
They've told you time
And time again, "autumn is the season
Of the dead.
Green leaves rusting, flowers
Dusting over till the pink

In the prior Autumn, the air smelled of leaf carcasses
and her abundant unused potential.
In efforts to cope she wrote of downpours,
breakup boots, and predicted wasted experiences.
She rebelled against her own sense of self, yet

When the air is crisp,

with a chilly breeze,

fall puts a spell on me.

The leaves fall in a wisp,

as an artist weaves-

a portrait of the fiery sea.

Though, it’s not February,

love seeps through the air.

Autumn leaves flutter around my head,

The color popping in the chilly,

Swirling air.

The veins stretch out,

Delicate within the leaves.

They connect,