Arrival

         Burnished gold sun shafts are gilding the sky,
         Soaking in cobalt as deep as a sigh;
         Heat mellows out into wood smoke and chill,
         Pumpkins are carved with particular skill.

         Green fades to auburn and ruby and rust,
         Scraping down streets on a skittery gust;
         Shadows sprawl out in the late afternoon,
         Nightfall divulges a crystalline moon.

         Turkeys are basted and roasted and sliced,
         Hot apple cider is tangy and spiced.
         Dishes are chinking and chatter flows free:
         Autumn’s dropped in for a brief vis-à-vis.