First day of Autumn;
Sky is pale, white overcast;
Crows cut the silence.
Birds speed across sky,
Rushing somewhere very fast,
Just like passing cars.
Dead leaves coat the stream.
It appears to have slowed down
With barely a ripple.
Bugs are curious;
They cluster around my eyes
To see what I see.
Three large piles of wood
Waiting to be neatly stacked:
Fall into winter.
One crow keeps cawing.
No other creature answers.
Talking to himself?
A leaf strikes my chest
On its way down to the ground--
Shock without feeling.
Dead leaf takes a break
Resting in soft pine needles
On its way downward.
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