The spinning wind bends the trees to a point where the undersides of leaves are showing.
The morning sun is less than direct in it's approach, but warm nonetheless.
Sparrows, robins and swallows all flit and fly in fractal patterns that my eyes translate into beautiful confusion.
There are dry and crunchy leaves skidding down the sidewalk to who knows where.
Life travels forward and back in this musical breeze and the sound it makes rivals any movement or symphony ever played by man.
Summer is slipping away slowly and autumn is overlapping the imaginary boundary of seasons.
Such are the seasonings of life.