Autumn Reckoning

Hot air swirls up from the south
Iowa harvest of corn in the fields
dancing sweet and buttery in my mouth
Am I ready for it all to end?
Am I ready for the colors to turn

from fresh to fierce
green to gold
clear to copper to crimson
crackle crackle crackle
says the hay beneath my feet;
and the August sun strains to bake
the dry and browning earth
but weakening, daylight waning
Autumn tickling the trees

teasing the sky to dark upon dark
upon dark
I know whether or not I'm ready
Autumn will conquer my soul again
With her stealthy seductive footfalls
and her Samhain-scented embrace.