In the forest,
the spectre of Autumn loiters.
Look there, see?
On the floor, red, gold and bronze leaves linger.
moist mulch and the smell of mould rises
as trudging feet kick though rotting vegetation,
gnats skitter in weak sunlit morning air.
Here and there overripe berries
cling stubbornly to leafless brambles;
thorns vicious, waiting to snag the unwary leg.
Crows caw and settle into skeletal
towering treetops, heralding Winter’s