Ode to Autumn

My senses are always grappling with the true nature of time.
But I anticipate
the loveliest transition,
that of summer into fall.

I become aware of
Arctic tinged breezes which chill through to the marrow
causing my joints to ache and my nose to run.
All around cinnamon colored leaves are ceremoniously offered
in a ritual of fiery sacrifice,
The incense of which burns my eyes and singes my nose.

Numbral angles become repositioned as on a sundial;
Allowing for the equidistance between night and day.
And as the night grows longer, the closer we are
to aphelion.

The once downy feathered peartree
has born the last of its fruit.
Wind becomes void of bird songs and cicadas
Yet pregnant with the Norther's blustery seed.

Golden wheat and corn stand at attention ready for the reaper, as
pumpkins become ghouls, twinkling their fiendish grins
All along twilit landscapes.
All Souls Day is nigh.

So, come away, come away
'tis Autumn's first day
Helio's chariot must rest 'til May.