The ancient phone book
Is still stuffed in the tree crotch.
Nobody's calling.

Lone purple clover
Stands on a sea of brown leaves.
How long will it last?

Soft green mullein plant
Spreads out its welcoming arms:
"Come, I will heal you."

White thorn branches bend;
The tempting berries are gone.
Now there's just prickles.

Washer in the woods
Awaits another season
But never sees clothes.

Where is my old pen?
Dropped into the dead brown leaves;
In oblivion.

High in the bare tree
A large bird's nest is revealed
No longer hidden.

Neat stack of cut logs;
Gray smoke puff from the chimney;
Spice smell of burnt wood.

Dead leaves on the tree
Still clinging to the branches.
Will they ever fall?

Four leaves on a tree;
Just a gust of wind will do;
Then the tree's bare.

Small purple flowers
Peep out from the sea of brown.
They make their last stand.

Sky and earth are still;
Something's bound to start falling.
Is it rain or snow?

Last leaf on a branch:
Will not be there tomorrow.
Just a puff of wind.

The grizzled black dog
Looks up and gives me a glance.
We are silent friends.

Lost in the brown leaves
My small silver bullet pen.
It's gone forever.

Leaves are skittering;
They dance in the cool sunlight,
Then one slaps my mouth.

Leaf slides to the ground,
Gently, slowly it descends.
Then, a burst of wind.

A bright glistening:
Something sparkles on dead leaves.
Ah, it's a beer can.

Spice smell of dead leaves;
The sun paints the trees yellow.
Chickens are clucking.

Burbling, whispering,
The stream races through the woods;
Where is it going?

The trees are naked;
Now deep woods are visible.
Still, there's mystery.

The marsh is still green;
Nearby, leaves float from the trees.
Two worlds, side by side.

Brightly glowing tree;
The sun illumines the leaves.
A breeze sprinkles them.

The leaves are sailing.
They float through the air like kites
And rest on the road.

The woods are silent;
Then a throbbing van passes:
Stench of tobacco.

Carpet of brown leaves.
The deep woods are undressing.
I can see farther.

A high rasping hum;
The chains saw cuts through the air.
A whiff of wood smoke.

A pile of brown leaves.
Through trees I see mountain tops.
The view is longer.

The faded red barn;
Pale moon in the cool blue sky;
Autumn is waking.

Cluster of bare trees;
Almost all the leaves are gone.
Shadows on the road.

A puff of yellow:
The maple lights up the road.
The air is spicy.

Black dogs on brown leaves:
They lift their heads and bellow,
Then plop back to sleep.

Tiny blue flowers
Wilt and droop in the chill air,
But yellow persists.

Shining milk weed pods
Hang full in the autumn air.
Their time will be soon.

The woods are mottled now;
Yellow leaves and brown carpet;
Patches of sunligh