by Barbara Hiebert
These fire engine red visitors
scatter outside my kitchen screen,
racing down from tall treetops,
sprinting across the lawn to the door
in gleeful admiration of the day.
There is a tree just over the hill
dressed in dazzling bright red sequins,
shouting, "Look at me, everybody!
Look at me!"
Down the lane the leaves are plastered
thick as wallpaper across the road
and up the tree trunks,
trying to look refined in spite
of the general confusion of yellows,
oranges and fading greens.
If I could choose one glorious moment
to participate in this colorfest of fall,
I would glide on the gusts of autumn wind,
joyful as the wings of the red-tailed hawk.