Fall Days

Smells like clean sweaters and leaves all crunched up Cold, it doesn't hurt But It bites Hair constantly windswept Wool hats Itchy ones The sound of little Gold and Red Fragments Being shattered and pounded Little crumbs left to blow around to maybe get stuck in the crack of the sidewalk It's death of the most peacefully kind It's the end November days Contest 11/4/22 after the final hurrah finally faded away and died out Until all that is left is a smoldering ember And bones In red and gold And a sweater And an itchy wool hat And a little glass fragment glittering beneath a brown boot