Late Autumn In Maine

It's late autumn
The landscape yawns under a quilt
Of faded colors
Soon it will sleep

Fallen leaves
That danced capriciously
To the whim of every breeze
Have either been raked
Or remain on the dance floor
Waiting to hear the music
Of another spring

Cranky chainsaws
Herald the coming of winter...hear them?
Smoke from chimneys smudge the wash
Of gray sky
As folks stoke their wood stoves
To chase the first chill
From the house

Squat orange pumkins
Sit in repose in odd places
Like distant relatives do when they come
To pay a surprise visit

Clusters of colorful Indian corn
Cling to posts and doors
Like giant caterpillars waiting to turn
Into butterflies.

They say that each season
Has its own beauty
I find that hard to believe
When the world I love
Will soon be locked
In ice

Now, I must be patient
And wait for green buds to appear
On all those trees
Just some parting words about snow
It does hide a lot of leaves

Story ID:	3667
Written by:	Tom Foley (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Oxford Maine U.S.A.
Year:	20007