A chilling breeze, falling leaves,
The first whisper of new wonder.
Orange and red flutter as I ponder,
Of fantasy and novel dreams.
Nothing is as it seems,
As I think through mighty thunder.
A fresh idea, one after another,
When rain starts running off the eaves.
This time is special every year.
A blessed change in atmosphere.
So rare to have a vision so clear.
Why can’t I have this every day...