welcome Autumn

I am here, tardy Autumn, waiting for you. I’ve prepared you a hot coffee and lit a fire. Come with your aroma and sweep away that light of my shoulders.

Summer's still shining in my mind. But your white hand swears by Autumn and readies the saddle for your poems. Autumn considers my idea then implements it: the hillside and the clouds climb the slope of the sky. Nothing more than this.

Of course, you could add a burst of lightning to shatter the dark.

You were all mistaken, you thought that horses live on the hills of Spring. Autumn’s hills are the horses’ residence. The scent of rain excites them, their nostrils flare, then they leap over stone walls toward the summit, to graze on the edges of clouds.