I remember Amherst, and New England in the Fall; the crispness in the air, gives birth to coat and shawl.
I remember the gray in the sky of late day, like some doom crawling near, that only God could belay.
The warm aromas, of dinners for the night and children after school, playing in the last bit of light.
Sundown's just a haze, and more depressing this time of year; families gather close, there's comfort in being near.
When night finally falls, there's a quiet desolation, as though the houses and trees, are suffering a great tribulation.
The Fall most always brings people together, striving for warmth from the coming cold weather.
The remembrance of Winter's chilling cold touch, at this time of year, is recalled deep and much.
Remembrance of ice and snow of virgin white, weighs heavy on the senses, in the cool of early night.
Summer's warm rays, now seem distant and faded, as Fall encroaches, with mischief berated.
Slowly staining, vibrant leaves of green, turning to crimson, the life that had been.