There begins a song.

Low and unnoticed.

The percussion of leaves

and nuts ironed underfoot.

The troubadours of autumn

overhead and overheard.

They tune up as

their formation points south.

Cooler breezes play off

the trees falling fingers.

Like air through a harmonica

notes stagger in stereo.

This time is for slowing down

as nature strolls and stares.

It blushes while

it prepares to undress.

Autumns fashions clothe my soul.

I too, blush as summer wanes.

All the heated growth laid bare

and tones slip to a minor key.

Here begins a soul song,

one of color and exposure,

of laying down my coverings

before You.