In Late Autumn

In late autumn,
When leaves have turned,
And the air is chill,
Thoughts turn to growing up in PA.
Walks through the woods,
In early morning.
Catching a glimpse of a white tail,
Hearing those birds that haven't left.
Smell of smoke,
From chimneys nearby,
Smells of leaves starting to decay,
The look of bare trees.
Impossible to walk quietly,
So many things that snap and crunch.
Twigs and leaves everywhere,
Couldn't sneak around if i wanted to.
Down by the pond,
Wondering when will we be able to ice skate.
Looking for tracks,
I see rabbits, raccoons, deer tracks everywhere.
Up hills and down,
I loved the mild exertion.
Flat as a pancake here in sunny FL.
No change of seasons,
At least not worth noticing.
Only two here, Wet and Dry.
Always hot,
I miss seeing my breath.
Too hot most days to even go out,
I miss being outdoors.
When I have my drothers,
Whatever that is,
I think I'll move farther north.
I don't want to go as far as PA,
I just need hills,
And streams, and ponds,
And, of course, a change of seasons.
Why is every body of water here,
Called a lake or a river?
We had puddles, and ponds,
And streams, and creeks.
I miss all that,
But not enough to act, yet.
I think of these things,
In late autumn.

Reviews

[FJ Davis]

Vivid and picturesque; takes the reader along, on a fond remembrance of homey things.
Ali's strong writing delivers a very pleasant experience.
Glad I stopped by.