40 Observations on a Fall Day

by AnimalHugger1000

December 29, 2015

The leaf fell, soundlessly, through the wind struck branches that lined its decent.
Previously, the colors were of spring, filled with green, but as the time progressed, the colors now change to yellow and red, brown and orange.
As I drive by, the orange pumpkins gloat, but they do not know what is coming.
The night has come quickly, yet the clock only reads 6:28 pm.
The sun, hot and bright, falls into the horizon, slowly and noticeably.
The sun’s colors change as it drops into the eastern hemisphere, yellow to gold, gold to orange, and eventually from purple to a deep, deep blue.
My fan blazes noisily, and my room heats up, which is something that only happens in Ventura.
As sweat beads glance down my forehead, the sun bakes my skin, when eventually I will be like a dried apricot.
“Mom, I don’t want to get the leaves done. Isn’t that the gardener’s job?” I moan, through the closed door in our townhome.
The clouds loom over us, threatening to drop their load, marking that the fall rainy day has come.
The steamy winds blow in from the east, bringing with them the heat.
The thermometer reads 110, but it feels like we are in the Underworld.
The fan only brings air, neither hot nor cold, just stale, smelly air that wafted up through the room.
The Santa Ana’s don’t let up, relentlessly blowing, a shaking the trees from their homes.
The perspiration catches on my upper lip, as I sit at home, thinking to myself about tonight’s doings.
“Aww come on!” I manage to say, before we start to run the dreaded mile.
My posters rock, swing, and hang from their tiny tacks, which keep them aloft.
“The tacks are failing,” I think, “The poster will soon come down and cover me in my sleep if that fan does not stop spinning.”
The ice pack sits on my head, melting away the heat, but soon, it will fail to do just that.
“My ice pack is gone, my shorts are gone, my tank top is gone, and I am left sweating, in jeans and a long sleeve for the special night.”
These were the thoughts that rushed through my head, making staying awake no easier as I typed like nuts on the computer.
Although the fan was on, I had the radio on, and my door was closed, I could still hear the rustle of leaves in the giant branches of the trees outside.
The leaves slowly begin to change, slightly making the turning point from green to yellow.
I let my tired muscles take over, as I sit, slouched and exhausted, in my seat, not wanting to do brain-crushing homework in this weather.
If you were to walk by my home right now, you would smell cinnamon spice and pumpkins with a sprinkle of apple.
The oven kills the use of fans in the house, and the pumpkin pie smell grows stronger with every passing minute.
Apple pie drifts up from the kitchen, filling my nose with the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon, with the noise of a brand new container of home made vanilla ice cream being opened.
I read the calendar, only to find that only last week did the season of Autumn start, but it seems like it has been going for months.
The pumpkin shaped flag floats in the wind, with the stinging breeze that will bake us all.
The pumpkins laugh with every crackle of the candle, and the ovens scream with every ding of the timer.
I turn on the television only to find re-runs of Hannah Montana playing all day long.
“The fundraiser asks of us too much,” this thought echoing through my head, every fall until I graduate from school.
The moon is much brighter, with every day though, it respectfully dims.
My door turns pink, with black and purple, all due to the fact that a picture of a witch is pasted to my bedroom door.
The pool water feels like a blessing from the heavens, as it quenches my skin’s thirst for hydration in this heat wave.
The setting sun sets the sky on fire, reds and yellow, blues and purples, and all colors that can be matched to a flaming ball called a star.
Dreaming and sleeping, I lie asleep in my room, on the hot floor, in front of the giant fan that blows warm air in my face, but in my dream I am in a winter wonderland.
Two fans blow, but nothing comes, not a wish of cold, not a stroke of heat, all that comes is anything but everything.
My glowing lamp lights up the room, as the clock reads 5:44 pm, but the sun’s nonexistent place in the sky makes me think the clock reads 8.
The city is aflame, colors bursting from every corner, with the trees changing colors for the oncoming season, the moon peeking above the eastern horizon, and the sun stretching out its tendrils of luminescence across the western horizon, and the cars and shops turning on all their lights for the night that is slowly creeping over the atmosphere.

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.