Doom wears green

Overladen trees
Impatient for autumn
Everything creaks
When the wind blows
It is still warm
Pretending to be Summer
The patter of acorns raining down
Ice comes when we stop turning our faces to the sun
Everything is late this year
We wait on the edge of Winter
Children's laughter and bird chatter
Suggest we have a little time to play
Leaves rustle along the street
Tiny whispers of what's to come
Brown leaves crunch under foot
But a sky of trees is still green
Sun sparkles in lazy streams
Taking their time
Gently flowing
A man in a wheelchair walks his dog
I wonder if he will make it to the paths end
He is in no rush
The lake sparkles between floating leaves
Looks messy in the light
Where doom wears green