It is the season of fairy dancing.
Umbrellas are up in case of rain
and the percussion of crackling leaves
begins to set the energy
for tempestuous swirling and giggling.
Bees are drunk with nectar, weighed down
by the mess of the pollen
and refusing to leave
the last call of a cold wind
pushes them out the door.
Pink ladies spill dew
on butterfly wing dresses
and blush with silly shame
as they make their way past low sunbeams
to the final dance
in the cooler winds of autumn wind.
No one is immune.
We all chase the glorious sun
to the edge of the river
for a last warm golden bath
before we must shiver on home.