Brown leaves are soggy;
Yellow leaves quiver on leaves.
Car leaves empty sound.
It's become the tree--
Wooden owl's been there so long
Watching and waiting.
Break in the gray sky--
Patch of blue between the clouds
Rolls swiftly across.
A flurry of leaves
Sweeps across the the leaden sky--
Swirling silhouettes.
Painted with moisture
Dead leaves becomes a palette
For an Autumn brush.
Beyond the thick clouds
Insistent cry of a crow
Shouting at something.
It's almost raining;
Thick gray clouds are gathering;
But there's light ahead.
Why do they wave back,
Those passing cars I wave at?
I do not know them.
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