First Gold of Fall

Along the ridge, the mountains sing,

A hush of wind, a feathered wing.

The maples bow, the birches gleam,

As autumn stirs her painted dream.

Beneath my boots, the cool earth sighs,

A single leaf drifts from the skies.

Brilliant yellow, crisp and bright,

A lantern born of mountain light.

I lift it gently, leaf of flame,

Its veins still whisper summer’s name.

Yet in its gold, a promise clear

The color season’s crown is here.