walking with my dad

on a chill day

in crystal autumn

the cold is stinging

the wind whips at my hair

and bites my nose

all around

tall grasses bend elegantly

in the wind

and small plants tumble

around my ankles

high above me

a choir of trees is singing

with the running wind

a seasoned conductor

first singing shrilly

now whispering icy secrets

the brilliant leaves

red orange gold

quiver bravely against an

ice blue sky

and I can hear the cold