The heat of summer has mellowed
The spider moves lithely along her web
The edges of leaves have yellowed
Bushes have birthed berries, round and red

The sun, an open mouth of cider-warm glow
Spreads out to hold off the chill of night
In the valley we hear the buck’s bellow
And a flock of geese takes flight

It is twilight, September
A time to quietly prepare 
A leaf, tinged red, gently falls
A tiny twig hangs bare