November Saturday Morning

...and that darting acrobatic dancer...danced in staccato fluid motion,
...and the wet leaves clung lifelessly upon the tarmac...lethargic hopelessness,
...and their kindred nestles in the long wet blades of green with an unbroken cycle,
...and the morning light finds translucent sadness upon the leaves that will never continue,
...and the acrobat stops in remembrance amid the lawn of my home,
...and we stare
...and he or she remembers the haven of its sustenance,
...and I take in the beauty of its presence and envies its simplicity.
...and on the Sandstone wall, the curiosity of them all,
a pair of foxes holds my gaze for a moment in the dawn.
camouflaged by the canopy of green of the ancient oaks,
...and was that a smile they gave me as they jumped from my sight?!
...and that darting acrobat moved with a flutter and a jump.

I breathe in the November Saturday Morning air,
The Autumnal Chill and the end of the early rain,
...and yet
I feel the world will never be the same.