IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR

 IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR

When the temperatures cool down and the leaves have fallen, there's a mania that grips many people. Pumpkin spice this and pumpkin spice that. Some folks just can't get enough pumpkin spice.

Myself, I prefer it, as most likely it originally was meant to be, as a spice in pumpkin pie.

Here's a poem for this season:

Pumpkin Spice

As the summer heat abates, maturing into Autumn's chill,

Leaves of green change into gold and red and orange and brown.

Groves of apple trees create a crisp aroma that instills

A sense of changing and of cold, of closing, winding down.

I love the fragrances of Fall, the colors of this time of year,

The flavors and the way it feels, the quiet fading ebb.

The world decreases, woes grow small, the air itself becomes more clear,

And everything appears more real, from stars to spiderwebs.

A whiff of cinnamon and cloves, a breath of ginger and nutmeg:

The taste of Fall is in this spice, warm and rich and sweet,

Mulling wine upon the stove, in the oven baking bread;

Pile whipped cream upon a slice of pumpkin pie and eat.

    by Ester Spurrill-Jones

Ester Spurill-Jones is the author of several books of poems and a manual on how to write poems (available on Amazon). She describes herself as Poet, lover, thinker, human and says of herself: 

"I am not an open book although I wish I could be. A part of me is all you see--the rest is hidden deep inside. 

Words have always been my art. They dance for me and sing for me. They laugh for me and cry for me. That are my paint and brushes. They are my clay."

To see more of Ester's work go to:

https://sites.google.com/view/thewordartist/home