The air is chilled.
Clouds in a hue of blue
that feels frigid, making
exposed digits ache and stiffen.
Autumn enters through
Summer’s closing door
and it’s true that fall could be hours old,
but the cold will have you believing
that looks are deceiving. Summer is departing;
can a disheartening Winter be far behind?
I find that this respite is a diversion,
an excursion through the year of seasons.
No reason can suffice to quell
crimson leaves and ice .
Copyright © Walter J. Wojtanik -2014
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 