It is not yet winter, not much of fall either
Spring still far away; summer not much neither,
Colors are plenty, a mix of sky blue, orange sun,
Reds of sunsets, greys of storm clouds undone,
The majestic beauty of our vast land and waters,
Oceans on our east and west make our borders,
Trees stand tall their leaves ever green, untainted,
Others their leaves faded standing bare-naked,
Some hanging on with their stem still attached,
A few more wind blasts and the leaf is detached,
Chipmunks in their last attempt to fill up storage,
By the looks of things they are not into porridge,