Sister Seasons

Golden glints of sunlight,
Mist through scarlet trees,
Color marshalled flowers, and
Harvest-readied fields
Whisper, "Good-bye, Summer,
Your time has come and passed.
Folks reach for wooly sweaters;
They cover swimming pools-
Long parades of children
March off to scholar's school.
Birds begin to pattern,
Winging, wheeling by-
Darkened dots of passage,
Sailors of the sky.
So Summer slips out softly
As if through a door,
And Fall begins her gold-spun reign
Of shortened days and fields' rich gain.

Jane Hutto