Clouds wrap ‘round the full moon like cotton candy ‘round the spindle.
There is silence in the land.
Air Conditioners drone no more.
September transitions, traditions - the ringing of school bells.
Open jackets, drawn a little closer but not yet closed.
The setting sun - earlier every day.
Lawnmowers give way to the rake or leaf blower.
The crackle and smoke of leaves.
That no one ever burns.
Apples drop off wild tree.
Hidden to no child.
Nor the parent who takes them to doctor.
All round the landscape is slowly painted in to shades of brown and red.
As if some invisible hand picked up a cosmic paint brush.
Knowing that it’s time for a change.
K.J.K. – 09/16/2013