The sun-bright air bites in a rush
with the swift, dry crackle of leaves set free…
All is color, all is life in Autumn’s flight:
one must get outside, or what is there to write!
The bold jay hops, dives, swoops,
on sun-splashed branches, limb to limb alighting…
Playful, free, she shines with all her glossy show:
we, like her in writing, write the soul of what we know.
Caelan Rowan McCuen 