A Rite of Autumn

Flurries of auburn, orange and gold

Swept along sidewalks.

Scattered across lawns and rooftops.

Still casually dripping from an early morning rain.

Autumn is a shedding of what once was new.

A harvest of life, a going to sleep.

Only to wake again, renewed earth

In spring.

These are indoor days. Demon days.

A time of rest, behind closed doors.

Shut tight from the wind that blows along.

Shut tight from the howling night.

These are broken days.

Though fleeting days.

Underneath pale white moons.