The long gray cobwebs at the end of autumn,
Bare bleak branches with empty nests.
Small fast squirrels gathering the last of treasures,
The distant sound of a neighbor putting up storm windows.
Crisp brown leaves so tough they are felt though your shoes.
They whisper of winter snow soon to come.
Last flock of geese gossiping on the still pond,
Finally leaving at the arrival of a nosy fox. 
Red dried roses hung as decorations on the back fence,
Your kettle whistles calling you in for your tea.