Summer Leaves

The flirtations of Summer have

drifted away, her disinterest in

anything serious, now widely

apparent. She’s got things she

wants to do and she’s already left.

Autumn is here now and

she’s planning on sticking

around for a while. She’s got

plans for you and she’ll stick

to them like pumpkin spice on rice.

Autumn, she doesn’t flirt like Summer.

Autumn goes in for the kiss like she

means it and she is enthusiastic about

a kiss back. She will look you in the

eyes and make you forget lazy Summer.

She’ll hold your hand tight as you both

stroll through the park over the crunchy leaves

she’s left like a multicolored carpet towards

a gala in her honor. She’ll tuck in closer if her cool

winds stir, her dark hair gently whipping in her breeze.

Summer didn’t care about walking in the park,

she just wanted to go to the beach, lay out in her

Sun and get a nice golden color to her skin. She

pretended not to notice the ogling stares and continued

to pretend she was just innocent in her intent.

Summer would talk to the life guard as you struggled

to load the hot car with all the stuff she brought to the

beach but never used. Drenched in sweat you suffer

as she would playfully tease all the volleyball players

and pet every dog that she came upon, cooing baby talk.

Autumn, she doesn’t do any of that. She sits in

the bookstore, sipping a hot cup of tea, adjusting

her scarf and wondering if it should rain today.

She looks forward to a night at home in front of

the fireplace, soup to eat and cuddles under a big blanket.

Autumn doesn’t flirt with you. She’s a realist and

knows that she’ll have to leave you. And she’ll leave you cold.

She’ll leave you dry.

She makes no phony promises about how

she wishes she could stay.

Her Sun will get lower.

Her nights get longer.

Her chills creep in.

She’ll get you to love her.

But leave you ready to face the cold.