LatinosUSA

The world glows amber this time of year

The air crisp as bitten apples

a hush between the crows call

Pumpkins sit like lanterns in the fields,

their orange light not lit by flame

but by the gentle pride of growing,

rooted, round, and love’s time.

I pass them on sidewalks

lined by a lot of friends,

besides scarecrows 

and my coffee cup gone lukewarm.

Leaves fall in slow applause,

each giving up with sweet grace.

The sun goes down earlier

gold streaming through bare branches.

Inside my house smells of cinnamon

baking for Thanksgiving surprise.