The crisp oranges,
the oak wood browns,
swirl together in piles.
Few escape,
and tumble rebeliantly
into tornados down the pavement.
A blanket of cold
sunggles into our lungs.
We look like dragons with
our smokey breath.
Sweaters grow thicker
over our goosebumps.
Shopping and pumpkins and
family and food
frollock across our minds.
The clouds shake glitter
like salt and pepper
over the town.
Each blade of grass
is wrapped up in a white scarf
and we all rest 
and wake up 
to crimson reds and forest greens
the next morning.