November crisp fills the air with the musty scents of autumn

leaves fall in fiery shades of crimson

and crunch under two pairs of overpriced sandals

the sun glimmers in golden splendor

sending spotlights dancing in the trees

like a midday corps de ballet

strawberry stems trail behind us

like a father and daughter Hansel and Gretel

on our way to a candy meadow of fairytale renown

Red-grey and light brown hair flutter in the sharp breeze

cutting our noses til they shine rose-petal pink

like the butterflies on my skirt- 

the butterflies we caught with nets and fed orange peels

and then released to moderate degrees of success

one of the butterflies- a monarch, sailed straight out of the enclosure we made like an arrow into the wild

but another, a swallowtail, took a while just to get out of its corner

so if I'm like the swallowtail, and take too log to let go of Ivy trail sundays

take my hand and walk to the meadow with me once again