Yesterday morning
thick clouds of lightest gray
to darkest and threatening
hung low in the cold sky,
giving notice that pounding rain
was on its way, as predicted.

This morning
long scarves of thin white clouds
stream across a light blue sky
heading east, blown by the
insistent west wind’s fingers
that pluck gold from maple branches,
making leaves fly and swirl in a wild dance,
until exhausted, they fall,
and settle onto piles of gold that lie
beneath the almost bare trees.

It’s not surprising
that Autumn’s nickname
is Fall.

Gloria Ziemienski
November 10, 2018