I've 'Fall'en and I Can't Get Up.

Summer salutes fall, in a climatic changing of the guard.

Winds swirl, as they struggle for direction.

Night evens the score with day, locked in an arm-wrestle for seasonal supremacy.

Pumpkins smile widely from the genial ground, coaxing to be taken in and turned into gastric confections.

Plump, crisp apples call out from the heights of their ballpark bleachers, "Pick me! Pick me!"

Grass greets a new dawn with a damp, "How do you 'dew'."

A harvest moon comes on the scene and gleens the role of night watchman.

Corn stalks stand at attention, weak-kneed, as they prepare for a well-deserved, retirement send-off.

Farmers plow over their fields, tucking them in and covering with a grateful blanket.

Cool rains wash over the spilled remnants of summer's frolic.

Bright, hardy 'mums strut out from behind the scenes in their best suits and take their places at the head of the table.

Old Mother Nature puts up her tired, aching, feet in summer support hose and dons a sprawling shawl, weary from cooking and seasoning.

Bees perform a sweet line dance in the final spotlight of summer's sun with a honey of a curtain call.

Rakes shake off last year's rust, limber up and sharpen their tines in preparation for a loquacious labor.

Leaves shiver from their perches on trees and change their clothes to tie-dye, as they boldly proclaim, "Look what we can do!"

They drift silently to the ground with a lowly lament and commence to crying out as they implore, "Help,

... I've 'fall'en and I can't get up ..."