fall softly in death
carpeting the cooling ground.
conducting static energy,
making the air sting.
the season dances;
playing a mocking game of change,
leaving the rest of the world
trailing sluggishly behind,
hugged still by the ashes of summer.
Sconces on trees
looking more alive as they die.
As if laughing to themselves,
they whisper as the wind howls.
old friends, together only once a year.