I like when the tops of two trees touch,

Like two old friends clasping hands,

Intertwining, lightly touching yet never letting go.

Leaves slowly falling on the pavement,

Stepped on, trod on, yet still able to fly away.

Caressed and cradled by the wind, it gently flows,

To begin something new, somewhere else.

The sounds of church bells in the distance ringing,

Cascades of colour and hues expound,

little drops of rain singing,

In many whispers with different sounds.

Autumn calls.

Are you listening?