whispers of autumn

late August,

late afternoon after a shower

fallen rain forms countless shining pools

on the freshly stained deck, now

darkened with water

narrow yellow leaves touched

with spots of brown,

blown onto the deck

by the storm, paste themselves

next to young green maple leaves,

each glistening like silver shafts

of light

under the descending

golden sun

the bright water beads,

the dark deck,

the shining leaves, whisper

autumn,

they say,

and I can hardly wait