The late September leaves were changing hues,
the annual hinting of October's cues
that living things would soon be leaving clues
of life again while winter resting still.
And now it is once more September late,
another year has passed and all await
the color fade and then the dormant state
with warmth enough to just survive the chill.
Between these changing seasons we have done
perhaps too little or perhaps too much.
The longer nights expect the setting sun
and settle into shadows, dreams, and such.
The shorter days demand an earnest run,
a hearty enterprise, a gentle touch.