When fiery embers of the dying summer
are spilled across the forested hillsides
high above, the sky fades from haze
to the flat, grey overcast of fall;
in the bright, sharp mornings of frost
the contrails measuring, defining,
the threads of high altocirrus lace,
then the sea fret infiltrating,
its damp fingers embroidering
crystal droplets on the spears of grass.
Such is the changeling, fragile autumn,
first one thing, then another,
a diaphanous phantom to this stranger
from a land of two seasons only.
the rainy and the dry.
Line Count: 15
Free Verse
For Verdant Poetry Contest, September 2020
Prompt: Autumn
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