Rolling hills the color of fire
As far as the eye can see.
Flaming oranges, reds, and golds
Among the hues of green.
The glimmering rays of a falling sun
Enhance the season’s glow,
As the maple limbs toss ignited manes
Gallantly to and fro.
As I look out upon forests ablaze
A smile comes to me.
I recall the many Autumns past
Frolicking in the leaves.
The hours that I spent raking the lawn,
Forming blisters across my palms,
For a few short minutes of the grandest joy;
An explosion of color from a five-year-old bomb.
I’d rise up covered with glistening leaves,
And gasping in gulps for air,
With a grin that spread from one side to the next,
And a wreath of flames in my hair.
Movement in my peripheral view
Makes me turn my head.
A single leaf swirling to the ground;
A spark from the hot coal bed.
The crackling of leaves beneath my feet
Sounds in the still of the trees.
I bask in the spectacular beauty
Of a season I wish would never leave.
By Nicole Bates