Forsythia's gone;
The leaves have fled the branches;
Just a few stragglers.

Small leaves on tree tops;
Alone, they reach for the sky;
Below, bare branches.

Ivy covered trees;
The dead tree trunks are green--
Leafy life on death.

The woods are soggy;
Moist brown leaves form a blanket.
There's a green bottle.

Small beads of water
Hang from the sharp pine needles
Which tremble slightly.

New soft shell mushrooms
Cling to the old dead tree trunk;
Soon they will be hard.

The old junked red car
Stuffed with bags and packages
Has nowhere to go.

Lichen on the trees:
Blotches of yellowish green.
There it covers the trunk.