dry, so dry around here
yellow are the bottom of the boxelder maples
yellow are some of the cottonwoods and aspen
seems fall is arriving soon
cool the morning air, long sleeve weather
then hot and sort of sticky the latter afternoon

the first yellow leaf has appeared
fall is in the air
summertime is waning, things are
beginning the changing
lots of Canada geese all around

yes the long hot summer has been short
soon frost on the punkin and ice on the water bucket

By Tom (




Autumn bring the cooler weather
Also falling leaves
Reds and browns, and yellow
But only one survived
He had been the first yellow leaf
But now the tree was almost bare
He still held on, looking all forlorn
He was the only one sat there.

The other leaves, hurled and twirled
They also did glide and slide
As he saw the other tumbling down
The reluctant leaf just cried.
The sun did try to move him
The wind it did blow
Then along came a storm
But that leaf did not conform.

It clung on for all its worth
Even though summer had gone
The other leaves lay on the ground
They knew their work was done.
For autumn season was here
And the leaves were pass their best
So finally after a couple of days
The reluctant yellow leaf joined the rest.

By Dee (




The first yellow leaf I see I guess is the Aspen. I am not good at naming tree leaves or trees. I know golden rod is famous for causing allergies. When I see a meadow of wildflowers up in Flagstaff, I photograph.

The end of summer blooms do not come until the end of September out here...or the beginning of October. You can see Queen Annes Lace back east and it is so beautiful. I remember it well.

Out here there are Palm and Date trees and Orange trees and Lemon groves. Up north the Aspens are as popular and the popular trees.

If you go east to the White Mountains, you see all the same things almost as back East. the Tall Pines and the smells, and the first frost of the year can happen there in September for sure.

By Amy (




Still hot here until middle of October. Palm trees have some brown fronds. Most do this time of year. Quail are still wearing sunshades and ground squirrels are swimming in the lake.

Stick Lizards carry sticks around to lay down to stand on for cooling feet. Cacti are stealing straw hats from stores to wear on their heads.

Peter Rabbit sneaks into houses to try out a/c. Doves sit on high wires and flap wings to fan their mate. Plants crawl across the desert softy crying, "I need water." God must hear them, because Thunder boomers and light flashes send down monsoon type rains.

By Sharon (




There is one wrinkled leaf left,
the first yellow leaf to turn,
hanging on at the end of a bare limb,
on a lone tree with snow scrambled
at its base.

The little leaf blows but hangs
on with tenacity despite
rain, snow, wind,
holds fast,

It knows what we all know, that
there will be no next time.

By Cottagelady (




When autumn comes to Tennessee,
The rural landscape takes on a golden hue.

It is as though we have never seen the berries before,
It is as though they are brand new.

The cotton field is a contrast before the trees of majestic color, And the barb wire fence stands stark against
The still green field.

The busy city life encroaches on the pastoral scene;
As the cars speed by on the highway now revealed.

Soon the farm will be gone forever,
As houses replace the cotton and grasses.

Will our memory fade of this lovely place,
Or will we view this progress through rose colored glasses?

By Phyllis (




In tatted articles of filigree
saunters lacy Queen Anne.

Slattern of the ditches,
your sisters
those pale doxies
swaying bicker faced
in the wind.

You are impudent
weedy wench,
low born chanteuse.

Clad in rural openwork
baring your white pantaloons shamelessly
beside the hedgerows.

No lady, not quality.
only a tame
carrot's cousin...

By Sharon Lea (Leaway56...deceased)




raising leafy arms, stretching and yawning
craning their necks to watch the day dawning
my flowers, climb out of their garden bed
wondering if the coming night's frost is the one to dread

will they enjoy the dawn again as they go to sleep?
while Jack Frost's icy fingers their tender blossoms seek
they close their eyes and wrap their petals tight
hoping to keep out the cold that comes at night

one by one they will lay down their summer blooms
accept the falling blanket of leaves as winter looms
come October, they will know their final battle has been lost
and for their summer's pleasures, they pay the ultimate cost.

By susi Taylor (




The groundhog tells us of the next six weeks
And the jarflies, at summer's end, begins to speak
They rub their wings together and make their buzzing sound
To tell us that Autumn is preparing to come around

My mom, a woman of the Ozarks, always said
That when the jarflies buzz, first frost is just six weeks ahead
And I mark my calendar on the date that I first hear
The buzz of the insect, and count the days I know are near

First frost just barely tinges the grass and leaves
Some more delicate flowers wilt when they are teased
But the hardy begonias and the chrysanthemums glory
When Jack Frost settles in and begins to tell his story

I like the first frost with the crispness in the morn
Then the faint painting on my kitchen window is born
It doesn't stay, of course, the sun comes up to melt
The tiny bits of frost that our world has felt

First frost, the day we know that Autumn is here
From that day on, it's Winter we really fear
But time goes on and the season's pass before our eyes
And Winter will come, the first frost was its cold disguise.

By susi Taylor (




Summer never meant to be cruel,
It bows its head and lets fall a tear or two,
The firey pressured bowl above,
Smothers beast and insect and dove.

It prays for release from asphyxiation,
While pressing down its own striations,
Crushing water from all vegetations,
Denying fall colors, brown leaves crackling.

Teasing in the morning with the smell of rain,
Only to grow hotter, to let mosquitoes reign.
It speaks when the bowl rolls an occasional rumble,
Though tomorrow this summer, finds temperance humbled.



The First Frost of Fall is a southern dream,
A dream from travelers north or east,
They tell of a land where colors are radiant,
Syrup is flowing, and there are turkey feasts.

Jewels of amber and orange and green,
Fall from the skies of this magical place,
Soon, they say, our southern dream,
Will tickle the nose of Tennessee’s face.

By Norma (


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