I gaze to the paling rosy sky

And hear the rustle of the drying leaves,

The calls of the downy woodpeckers,

The joining together of the bird guilds.

I delight in the song of the pine warbler

And the chirp of the crickets

Both calling Fall to spread herself

Upon the land

In hues of golds, red, and orange.

I listen for the last of the cicada song

Fading fast

On the branches of trees

Just beginning to release their leaves.

I wait for the morning glories to open

Right with daybreak.

I watch them close

Their job well done at sunset.

I live for the light.