In Autumn

Another poem written for creative writing class (which is finished now).

In Autumn

The wind comes from forgotten lands
of ancient hills and elven strands
to tease remembrance in the mind.
You'd think the air was brought
purposely to wake the thought
of elder day or foreign clime.

The leaves are like an unknown tongue,
each a word, in piles flung,
sentence-deep around the trees.
The earth speaks, too (squish! squash!)
And the treetops (swish! toss!)
In a roil of branchy seas.

They tell of something just beyond
mortal grasp; like a fond
memory, but deeper, higher.
I cannot see what's behind
the invitation of the wind—
I know the Something stirs desire.