And, now for something completely different: a herd of Haiku-----

The sun sets early
and October's evenings wear
woodsmoke as perfume.

A clean sky so blue
my heart aches to behold it---
such is October.

November severs
the last leaves of summer to
wait for the snow.

The grain is golden,
the orchard ripe and laden.
Gorge, for winter looms!

Dry, brown, rattling husks
flung by cold winds down furrows
once ripe; now barren.

As irrelevant
as December's cold sunlight:
till death do us part.

A dandelion
glows between mounds of old snow
and whispers: "Spring!"

None of us relish
the ultimate admission:
we're waiting to die.

Like sepia-tinged
snapshots of our yesterdays,
I'm still relevant.

Hope you find some of these worth reading.