Autumn in Vermont

Falling Autumn
Emily-Amber Holmes

The warmth disappears from my skin.
When others step into their uggs,
I let my feet brace the cold
in their semi-naked shoe's.

The rainbows in the trees fall,
like teardrops from a newborn fawn.
Zombies and vampires come alive,
begging strangers for their brains and blood.

Pumpkins in the roads,
spiced with rotten eggs.
Candy wrappers teeter-totering in the breeze.

Now the days come and go.
Drinking warm cider,
all snuggled into a backwards robe
waiting for the turkey and stuffing to foxtrot into the airways.

The arctic tone skates up my spine,
once the wonderland hits.
I miss the 50 degrees of fall.
I miss the bright yellows and crisp oranges.
I miss the open toed shoes.

Even though you're my third favorite,
you still make me miss all the wonderful things.
The day I step into the blinding white hills,
is the day I miss the browning green grass.

The smell of the last mowed lawn.

I count back the days,
from when I saw you last.