The scent of autumn

Sun cuts through the cold breezes

Summer is dying

A chainsaw echos

The buzz which tells the season

A time for yard work

The tree died last year

Still standing, bare as winter

A perch for the doves

Brittle limbs torn off

A shower of thorny twigs

New logs cracked and dry

Stump low to the ground

Piled high with old brush and weeds

It made a nice fire