Lady Autumn's Etchings (Prose version)

Towards the end of Summer’s hot and exhausting reign, Lady Autumn slips in, quiet and sly. She’s but a hint on the wind. She tickles the clouds until they roll and gather in afternoon rumbles of laughter. She stirs the slumber of latent chill. She whispers and winks, biding her time, coy and poised. 1

Taking note of the subtle signs, the leaves ripen with joy and begin preparations for the change of the color guard. On cue, Nature ushers her in, flowing in her delicate boldness, arms wide and head back laughing in the wind. The leaves flitter their awe and approval. The trees tremble in their anticipation, releasing the tipsy leaves that dance in the breeze and end prostrate for her to etch her poems on their drying backs. They are her papers, and the flurry is her quill as she radiates her thoughts and rhymes.2

These plentiful papers capture her prolific insights for all to see. Her secrets of life carpet the ground and gather against fences. They are raked into tantalizing piles where children jump and bathe in her imagery- the whispers and magic they still hear. They toss her thoughts into the air, scattering her playful puns. Insights cling in their hair; tickle down their shirts. They feel the quiet brush of her rhythm.3

Her artistic creations are gathered and carefully spread around mother bushes and daddy trees. They are layered on tired gardens, spent from the chaotic frenzy of crops. Her leafy poems, both brief and deep, settle in. Her potent wisdom deteriorates the foliage, that so willingly sacrificed to wear her sweet words, and turn her exquisite schemes and scansions to heady fertilizer. Nature drinks in the remains of her brief reign. 4

She retires her splendor and lays down to dream the magic and whispers of her sequel for the next post-summer soiree. 5