Autumn is creeping in.
Here, she forgoes the loud parade:
the trees unfurling their flags
in bold reds, yellows, and oranges;
the trumpet blasts of football crowds
the twirling of rakes,
the gentle music of crisp leaves,
skittering and scraping along the sidewalks and streets.

Instead, the nights grow slightly cooler —
perhaps we’ll need the doona tonight.
The tomato plants are turning brown —
next to them, the pumpkin vine squirms,
waiting for me to uproot its neighbor
and allow it room to stretch.
I hem and haw —
is it really time?
There is still fruit to be harvested,
bright and red,
and I would hate to raze them too soon.