End of Summertime

On a misty, foggy October morning a low, cold wind spreads the smell of burning bark slashed from our forest trees. As the haze builds the town contorts into Sleepy Hollow, now the Headless Horse Man is expected to follow. There, falls the sounds of dew and rain and the birds that begin to awake but the leaves and the trees are as still as can be. Through the misty dew can I still see the red and the orange and the green of falls changing leaves. Then I check my calendar screen for the end of Summertime creeps ironically on Monday's eve wrenching us into the season of Hallows Eve.