Child of Autumn

Having been born in crimson October,
I feel myself connected to its radiance;
The sultry days of summer are enticing,
but there's no comparison to Fall's ambiance.

Melancholy moments watching the leaves turn,
from gold to russet then crispy brown;
Pumpkins carried in from the garden,
waiting to be sliced into Jack'o'lanterns frown.

The misty breeze of cooling raindrops,
enveloping the air with pugent cinnamon scent;
Sweaters worn daily to keep the chill at bay,
while evening light grows dimmer by the minute.

I recall my father's words when sunset came,
much earlier each day as he arrived home safely;
"I always feel somewhat mellow at this time of year",
his wistful sigh pervading the night intensely.

But I preferred the sleepy hollowed ways,
of October's wild and often mystical scene;
No other time of year was quite the wonder,
which held me captive like the child I'd always be.