listening to the leaves

The drifting wind whispers through
the rustling, weathered leaves.
It whips them up and throws them high
swimming through the trees.

           It's autumn now, they seem to say
           as the sound of them fills the air.
           It's time for apples and time for red,
           and time to pick the ripened pears.

Autumn with it's winds of frost,
and autumn with its colors.
Brilliant gold and vivid red
Deep orange and many others.

            Autumn where the nights grow long
            and the moon carries a chill.
            Autumn where the trees transform
            and leaves just can't sit still.

There is a cracking, rustling noise
of crunching, drying leaves.
Chilly wind whips them up,
and tosses them through the trees.