If I could be a season

Autumn would be my choice
And I would sing so freely
The wind would be my voice
I would be the smell of apples
Scenting the crisp, cool air
And the sugar maple tree
With the beautiful painted hair
Children’s laughter echoing
Throughout the spacious fields
The little puppy leaping
Joyfully at their heels
Farmers working in their fields
The smell of fresh mown hay
Heightened senses being filled
With nature’s gifts that day
The sun that shines so brightly,
Filtering through leaves of red and gold
The lovely pulsating aura
Surrounding the trees of old
Stored within these old tree’s
Deep inside their souls
Is the knowledge of their history
And the secrets that they hold
The smell of burning leaves
Smoke curling in the air
A sample of the season
When the days will be less fair
People feeling energized
From the crisp, cool, spicy air
Walking down the country lane
Admiring the colorful flare
If I could be a season
Surely autumn would be my choice
And I would send forth music
As the wind became my voice
Then gently whisper to the trees
Thanking them for their art
And array of magnificent colors
That profoundly touches the heart
Saying farewell I am leaving
A gift that goes far beyond words,
And I will return next season
On the wings of the migrating birds.