November

The chilly November winds blow,
hastily making their way toward December,
where they will abide and spawn snow.
Nestled in their bosom they carry
the smell of wood-burning fires and decomposing leaves.
The trees, once alive and green, are now their own pyres,
ablaze with fiery colors before they flicker out for a time.
The leaves fall in their spiral paths,
skipping lazily across the ground to gather in piles.
The young and young at heart kick through the piles
and spread the leaves with comforting crunches.
The air itself has a toothless bite to it,
nipping at your collar and reminding you of what is to come.
The cold rain smells of endings and autumn
and invokes thoughts of home, blankets, and fires.
But the best is yet to come.