The chill is creeping slowly into the air:
Crisp as apples hanging heavy in trees.
One cannot help but to stop and to stare
while standing still in the autumnal breeze.
Stare at the mountains clad in old forests,
Blazing with fire before their season’s sleep,
As the sun falls slowly into the west.
Soon all will seem dead, but yet do not weep:
It is nothing more than a rest well earned.
Soon the nights will grow long and dwarf the day,
Life will settle down to sleep after it burned
all summer long. Remember as all turns grey
That we are mere months from spring and rain
That brings new life, new joy we cannot contain.
(Trying out this whole soundcloud thing)