The air is crumpling down
Folded fingerjoints caught in a turbulent roll
The scent of crackling fireplaces wrapping around pudgy geese
And the slick sheen of well-combed grass with that good old-fashioned dew
Sneakers plodding through lifeless leaves
Grumbles of idle cars dreaming of another age
A gust of wind rattling the percussive windchimes on a nearby tree
The sky, pale, and the stream caught undressed
Thoughts scattered and dampened
Reluctantly haunting the horizons of barren groves
What stories come and come to be forgotten
In the infertile glow of autumn mornings
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