Trees shed the old, the gold for renewal
Leaves fall like tears.
Fog like a mystery blankets the bay
Eerie mist blocks my view.
The breeze through the branches is a backing percussion
Please stop that frightening howl!
The symphonic trill of the crickets play
Night noises threaten unknown.
The moon glows romantic to silhouette lovers
Werewolves prey under such skies.
Small ghouls in packs laugh, hugging bags of candy
Keep the front lights off.
Autumn days shorten with promise of sweaters and snow
Cold is coming.
Perception is truth, Thoreau discerned at the Pond,
And we choose our reality.
It's not what you look at that matters at all
It's all in what you see.
Photo by Neven Krcmarek on Unsplash