Autumn came knocking one September day,
while Summer was nowhere near packed away.
She tapped on the windows and rattled the trees,
then sailed through the yard on a cool little breeze.
“Not yet,” Summer called. “You’re early, I think!
My roses are blooming. My skies are still pink.
The afternoons linger, the crickets still sing,
and I haven’t packed up a single warm thing.”
Autumn just laughed from her place by the door
and shook out some leaves she had gathered before.
They tumbled in scarlet and amber and gold,
quite pleased with themselves, if the truth should be told.
“I brought you some apples,” said Autumn. “And pears.
Some pumpkins are coming—they travel in pairs.
The acorns are ready. The mums are in bloom.
I thought perhaps you might make me some room.”
Summer looked over the bright afternoon.
“You always arrive just a little too soon.”
Then WHOOSH went the wind—
and down from the tree
came one crimson maple leaf, dancing with glee.
It spun past the window,
sailed over the chair,
turned once in a circle
and landed right there—
on Summer’s bare toes.
She looked down in surprise.
Autumn stood smiling.
Summer rolled her eyes.
“Well… that one’s quite pretty,” she finally said.
“I thought you might like it.”
Autumn grinned.
“It’s red.”
Before very long, more leaves joined the fun.
They skipped down the sidewalk and danced in the sun.
The pumpkins rolled in and lined up by the stair,
while cinnamon somehow got into the air.
The squirrels grew busy. The geese made a fuss.
The wind chased the leaves as they hurried past us.
The trees changed their dresses from green into gold,
and evenings came earlier, mornings more cold.
Still Summer held tightly to each sunny day,
warming the porch as September slipped away.
“I suppose,” she said softly, “you’re here now to stay.”
Autumn grew quiet.
“For a little while.”
And somehow that answer made Summer smile.
She gathered her sunshine, her long days, her green,
the warmest blue skies that the year yet had seen.
But before she departed, she turned at the door.
“There’s just one small thing I would ask you before.
When your nights become chilly
and cold breezes start,
would you leave just a little
of my warmth in their hearts?”
Autumn looked out where the trees blazed with light,
their oranges and scarlets all burning so bright.
“I will,” Autumn promised. “And when I am through,
Winter will come knocking, the same way I do.
Then Spring will arrive with her flowers and rain,
and before you know it—
you’ll be here again.”
Summer smiled then and stepped out of the way.
Autumn walked in.
And decided to stay.
She tossed leaves in gutters, put gold in the trees,
sent acorns down rooftops and chills through the breeze.
She painted the maples, brought pumpkins to town,
then laughed as the wind blew their bright leaves around.
And somewhere between all that gold, red, and blue,
I found myself falling for Autumn some too.
I still missed the sunshine,
the long summer glow.
But perhaps we can welcome what’s coming—
and still miss what goes.
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