The Days Before The North Wind

It’s a late summer’s eve.
The only sounds
A child’s laughter,
crickets singing,
Leaves rustling on the tiniest breeze.

Summer meal on the table,
BBQ, corn on the cob
Fresh tomatoes and cucumbers.
Must be August.

Farm stands full
of things just picked today.
Melons and peppers,
Apples and peaches.
Pumpkins soon dot the ground.
The harvest underway.

The days grow shorter.
The laughter retreats inside the cozy warm house.
The leaves crunch underfoot,
And fires ignite in back yards pits to ward off the chill.

The leaves soon will turn
To red and gold and orange.
In a breeze it will rain leaves.
In a still sky, they will crunch underfoot,
come into the house attached to feet.

Think of me as the leaves fall.
I will miss the autumn,
The days of clear cool air
Before the north wind blows.

But when it blows, hard and steady,
Come see me then, my friend
In a land of endless summer.