Stepping out into a crisp autumn night
Is never the same thing twice.
Sometimes fog is curling along the ground,
Maybe a different orchestra of crickets decide to play,
Perhaps fallen leaves crackle under your boots,
a cool wind tousles your scarf,
stealing your breath and voice,
all as you tug on your gloves, to take a sip of warm tea,
or hot chocolate.
As I stepped out into a crisp autumn night,
I witnessed the dimples in the moon's smile.
How she slightly tilts her head and watches
over us with twinkling eyes,
a glowing beacon of the night.
She's a beauty against the inkiness of the sky,
and the stars just gently sing beside her,
as clouds curl into her dress and, slowly, she dances away
as the sun comes up
to awaken me to a crisp autumn day.