Maple Leaf

The phenomenal light of autumn and warm breeze filled our neighborhood with a needed breath of
silence and falling leaves       a radiance of orange maple leaves raining from maple trees upon Walnut Street and grasses and fading flowers and quaint little houses       Sunday afternoon in late October.

If I was to write a poem today

If I was to write a poem about fall it would begin at dawn as I notice the orange red sky and notice how crystal clear breathes the air and notice the soft turquoise light settling into morning's visions of October baseball playing through all things like movie music and the day begins after the night before when a ten-inning game turned to a win out of which flew midnight's victoriously gleeful team. If I was to write a poem about fall it would begin here with my first cup of coffee and the chair in which I sit to write next to the window with cool glass panes and a balcony view of treetops. This poem sees the transfer of pigment through leaves of the beech that show a brightness of yellow as the cheers from last night's game spirit through lacy spaces. This October poem sings "Lets go Royals" as the silver sliver of moon dresses for tonight's party. The Game.