A tree-lined lane in autumn
Not so perfect as to be cliché
Some leaves still green,
Summer still lingering in their branches
But most are fully autumn bound
Beginning their annual riot of color
Of butter and pumpkin, umber and gold
The quiet rustling jubilation of sugar and sun

The empty road beaconing travelers on
Toward distant feasts of harvest bounty
Still baking, steaming and underway
Kitchens workers dusted with flour and spice
The promising scents of leaf dust, decay and far off cinnamon
Linger in the mind, a whisper of
Laughter and fireside on the breeze