The scent of crisp harvest wind embraces my soul
–awakening my sleeping spirit as it swirls past.
Fresh spiced cider warm awaits me beyond the door
–and yet I remain outside a moment to savor fall.
To close my eyes and hear the leaves as they crunch
—to smell the bonfire nearby as it crackles and pops.
Hoof-beats pound like heartbeat flying over yellow grass
–this moment is special, though not an event or occasion.
Yet in it lie the joy and peace that make my spirit sing
–praying for it not to end thus withdrawing its perfection.
Karen Quinn 10-16-2001