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?

Oh well, I guess it’s best that way

Creative here in autumns sway.