Autumnal Woods

The stream winding through the
forest at the bottom of the ravine
froths with foliage fallen from trees
leaning above discarding treasures
of gold and red. Their green mantles
of summer have assumed improbable
shades of orange and bronze, yellow
and pink and the maples, birches and
oaks respond like mothers horrified
that their newborns have been switched
in the cradle by refusing to accept them
as their own. The forest floor is rich
with its own brocade of striped and
spotted, blanched and vibrant leaves
billowing its surface, catching the
rays of sun filtering through the
depleting canopy to scintillate shades
of a palette known only to nature.
Crickets and cicadas sing their pleasure
at the vagaries of the seasons while
platoons of regimented geese embark
on their annual migration as night
frosts surrender to crisp days and
swiftly diminishing daylight hours.