of crisp morning mist.
of indian summered afternoons. of gold sunlight.
of the fair leafed aspen, yellow splendidly spread amongst the pine.
anticipation of pears, waiting to be sliced.
of cinnamon dashed across my cider, pressed there.
of the sting of nutmeg, across my nose.
heated ovens, of building pies late into the day.
of sitting, outside under a tree.
of pumpkins round and apples sweet.
anticipation that lifts the salty sweat off our necks, our damp hair from our chin.
anticipation calling as we wait for leaves falling,
tender, crisp, hued red, purpled brown in the fairy lit fall air.