contemplating life on a gondola ride in autumnal vermont

fall isn't what you think it is.

fall isn't

pumpkin spice lattes and

smoky bonfires and

cinnamon candles and

your new maroon woolly cardigan that was on sale for

Thanksgiving or Halloween or whatever

holiday is next fall isn't

happy laughing children next to hayrides or

grinning jack o'lanterns on your perfectly aligned porch or

white Converse you haven't gotten dirty in the gutters

walking to school yet

fall isn't                       perfection.

fall is

gray October rain and

another dragon-breath Halloween because in New England

you pick your costume for the warmth and

great sweeping swathes of half-perfect orange trees

covered after the autumnal peak by

sticks, spiderwebbing over the gaps like gray puffballs

while the girls at school freak out over the new 

Starbucks extra-hot sweater season Orange Drink

or something stupid like that.

fall is holding your hand as we walk through the misty afternoon

trying to stop your little puppy from eating the grass

still dewy from the morning when the dawn didn't come

till the sunset.

fall is beauty and love

and fear and anticipation

and fall is you and me

and you and you and you too

and fall is this and it isn't

because this isn't what you think is fall.