The spongy, wet ground
gooshes beneath my sandles as
wet grass paints my feet.

Like dots of gray in
jet black hair, bits of turning
leaves sprinkle the green.

The air has thickened,
and summer gasps out hot breathe
sticky with moisture.

They sit in darkness,
sinister little bastards,
waiting for leavings.

Yellow harvest moon
peeking shyly through curtains
of whispy, gray clouds.

A whiff of desiel,
mixed with smells of manure and
sugar - farm kid bliss.

A brilliant, wet green
so bright it hurts my eyes was
left behind by storms.

Fall has come early
riding on the rain's coattails,
washing summer out.

September arrived
bringing a morning chill and
stray leaves on the grass.