Though September has but begun,
Though yester-days were clear and hot,
The clouds today foreshadow fall,

Fall and warm coffee-pumpkin concoctions at the corner café,
Browning palm fronds, the subtle bite of the California west wind,
And the first collected thoughts of the school year, the pathos
Of the eager teacher, welcoming the early evening an hour after bell-song.

Dust on windshields dampens, and though there are no drops of rain,
The smog is no longer the spry child that it was weeks ago; it slinks low
On the cityscape horizon, blends with dark rooftops, haunts attics
With old memories of the unshadowed sun.

The girl in the summer dress, all blue and slippery sheen, is underdressed.
The occasion calls for the thick of cotton, the long of scarf, the ridge of corduroy,
Calling consumer to remember that miles up and away in Big Bear
Snow will soon meet peaks, and we valley dwellers would do well to follow suit.

The green of neon announcing donuts is no longer the new life,
the spring birth, youth, but instead sprouts sprigs of holly.
Red is berry, red is nose, red is sash, no longer sun.