In autumn’s prime the forest wraps herself in regal red and gold. The late October sun with garnet fingers parts her leafy hair and bathes her in his warming rays, showering her with shimmering gems. Above our heads the brilliant treetops brush with orange the sky’s translucent blue, producing vibrant colors far beyond the magic palette of Cezanne. In friendly circlets, tiny wisps of steam arise from damp and leafy carpets, paging never-ending sleep. Even songs of birds seem laden with fatigue, and droning insects hum a soothing lullaby to drowsy trees. As winter’s dormant rest arrives, the feathery lace of verdant ferns, waving gently in the breeze, intone the coda of summer’s song.
Written circa 1962 by David L Brungart - © Copyright