The local plants lose their leaves instantly.
One day, still clinging fiercely to the last of the light,
The next, brown and barren, frozen until the return of warmth.
The true fall here is a brief stepping stone on the way to winter.
If it is a kaleidoscope of colours, it is a kaleidoscope of brown and cold and ominous hibernation.
The riot of leaves, of red and gold and photo opportunities-
They aren’t from here.
They come from elsewhere,
A nostalgic memory of other places, other autumns.
Those bold, bright colours live until-
The set of rot, the frost that catches them out, the True Winter.
There are always more people from elsewhere though
Ready to plant their memories
Picture perfect and already dead.
Nostalgia is a powerful and fascinating force.