There begins a song.
Low and unnoticed.
The percussion of leaves
and nuts ironed underfoot.
The troubadours of autumn
overhead and overheard.
They tune up as
their formation points south.
Cooler breezes play off
the trees falling fingers.
Like air through a harmonica
notes stagger in stereo.
This time is for slowing down
as nature strolls and stares.
It blushes while
it prepares to undress.
Autumns fashions clothe my soul.
I too, blush as summer wanes.
All the heated growth laid bare
and tones slip to a minor key.
Here begins a soul song,
one of color and exposure,
of laying down my coverings
before You.
Gerald the Writer 
Absolutely beautiful! You have such a way with words – makes me want to just close up my keyboard!
Thanks for stopping by and for the kinds words.
Incredible writing! (And yes, I did read it aloud like you told me to.)
Good, good, good Peter.
Beautiful.
Thanks for stopping by Diane!