Private Autumn Poem

Autumn crept upon me in secret this year. I know it's October, and the sky has changed for sure with its early pregnancy and soft, grey clouds. I looked outside my office window while doing paperwork this evening and saw leaves on the ground. Heard them, actually, rustling, scattering by the full length windows. They're like dry paper from a thousand year old Bible. Perhaps I would call them crisp, whereas you would call them brittle. It doesn't really matter, semantics. To me the air is full in October in the autumn, and I feel most alive. Up in the trees are my colors, amber to remind me of sap, brown for the Earth, deep red; the color of the new sky, and burnt orange for butternut squash. I am color blind, though and cannot see these colors with my eyes only in my brain, in my heart. I love these colors wherever I see them. I identify most with the squash, with the pumpkin. These are vegetables who must be carved, and roasted. A little butter, brown sugar and they are magnificent. But the unskilled make jack - o - lanterns with these things, my favorites. Most people are more suited to the springtime veggies, the morel and asparagus. Those are flashes in the pan. I need more depth than that.