After the first leaf falls, the air grows chill,

The grass stiffens and a child becomes ill.

The world shifts and the trees turn gold,

Frost covers the floor, and the summer is old.

Leaves, leaves, they all begin the fall.

Crackle, rustle, “shhhhhhh,” they call.

Crisp meadows and layered night skies,

Hidden truths the shadows of trees disguise.

A round harvest moon watches over the night,

As the squirrels scurry, ashamed of their fright.

Mysteries, sounds, and faces are sensed

Among the frozen leaves they tense.

“Remember,” They whisper, “the wishes of summer,”

“For tomorrow night it will turn winter.”