A hint of chill,
A wisp of crispness
in the air.
A gentle breeze,
Just slightly cold.
An achy joint,
If you are old.
The geese are flying
And clouds are lying
in lazy drifts —
Their white belying
The darker clouds to come.
We pull the sweaters
From our dressers —
the furnace on.
The harvest dawn —
The crops are gathered
And birds are scattered.
What is the reason
For changing seasons?
To keep awake
And not to take
for granted —
The wonder of creation.
clarakatalin 
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