Step outside, cheeks flush red

Suddenly, mornings have that chilling air

Sunrays try their might

To peek through the clouded sky

My feet pit and pat on top of the dusty pebble trail

Along the little lake, the birds are calming down

Two bird watchers sit upon a bench

Talking while the day’s still new

About the different flocks of birds living on our dreamy lake

The trees are speckled emerald, ruby, gold

A honey-crisp apple drops between my shoulder blades

Like someone high up in the tree threw it down at me

Golden leaves spill across the street

While I run through trees and over fallen branches

I trip across a root and fall

It’s time I realize

There are falling apples falling leaves, I’m falling on my knees

It must be turning autumn

This was written by our contributing writer, Karina Coghlan.