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.