on the bridge

Here we stand

on the bridge

between summer and autumn.

When the children soak

up the fading rays of the summer

and bask in the delicious breeze

of autumn arriving through the trees.

The spicy scent of warm cider

fills the kitchen

while pink-cheeked children

warm their chilly fingers.

The fire

beginning to light the maples

distracts our attention

from the decay in the garden.

The summer blooms

are fading

except chrysanthemum,

who lingers on the bridge

to view the red and gold

of the impending autumn.