I heard Autumn call my name. She walked down the hill with measured stride, her robe of scarlet and gold brocade flowing around her, morning mist like smoke trailing behind, her feet in sparkling slippers of sapphire and deep,deep green. She came along with the western wind blowing her hair around her in a billowing cloud.
She called my name. And I could hear the echoes of bluebird and robin in her voice, as they made their plans for winter rendezvous. Crickets cadence changing with the cooler air added their tune to the song. She called my name and I saw her standing there.
Autumn called my name and beckoned me with slender hands. She showed me how she touched the apple and grape with cooling air and caused them to blush in vibrant hue. Her artist's brush touched tree and bush and leaves became orange and red and glowing yellow.
She called my name and bid me follow her from west to east and back again. Laughing in the breeze, she spoke of vagabond journey's end from sea to sea, azure sky reflected in still pond and river, blazing trees mirrored in lake and stream. "Come and see my handiwork," she teased. "Come and smell the fragrant lift of smoke from fires and smoldering chimneys. No other season bears this mark of mine. Come, come and follow me. Shake off your indolence and sleep and see the miracle of turning earth and sky and sea."
Autumn called my name and I replied, "No,no. I have enough here on my hilltop home to see. I do not need to follow you down into the valley and to other places and times to see what you have done. No indeed, I ask you Autumn, stay here with me and gaze upon your handiwork that reveals itself to me in precious days that fly too swiftly by."
Stay, Autumn, stay a little longer. Let me linger here and fill my soul with all you have to give.
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