Weather

This is a poem

Deep green turns to orange, yellow and red
Brown leaves blow in the air swirling in a miniature
cyclone before setteling on the ground. Some leave
gather into clusters, culmped together and wet from the
puddles on the ground. There will be snow on the ground
soon. I feel it in the air. In my fingers and cheeks
there is the burn of the cold and
my nose and ears are numb.