A Fall Poem

This hot heat, in September! 

What foul weather is at play?
Defiling the senses,
Tricking the foliage,
Yet, the days grow short.

The nose does not lie.
The smell of childhood,
Musty leaves beneath my feet,
Eyes closed, I am
Transported to a time before.

The ‘fall’ of the mountain.
I feel the wind push against my skin,
And travel ever so slightly,
To caress the greying hair,
Of the trees around me.

Lovingly, playing about me.
A jazz riff, instruments of nature,
That tickle all five senses, leaving my
Sixth sense, in awe. I smile,
At my fortune.

This hot heat, in September!
What foul weather is at play?