Summer moves toward a whisper,
verging on nigh but memory.
Old red and sugar maples hint
—just a branch or two at a time—
of the choir of colors to come.
Yea verily—it’s Almost-Fall.
Soft velvet yields to antler
as the squirrel, deer, and raccoon
greet the random rain of acorns
through many still-green oak leaves.
And the hills of Painted Post know
—they always do—it’s Almost-Fall.
Crisp air portends the orange-browns
of hickory, and the golds of
poplar, locust, ash, and birch.
Even wondrously stubborn oaks
profess with bright red-purple leaves
a grand design—it’s Almost-Fall.