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