There is a crispness to clear cool fall days. 

The leaves... wait for the first real rain. 

Chestnuts, who fall first, appear like 

Pebbles on the streets, eventually smashed 

Into an orange/brown bumpy pulp pavement. 

A stubborn rhododendron flower lingers 

Hidden beneath summer cooked foliage 

Hops a ride, sticking to the bottom of a shoe. 

 
When the first real rain hits, there’s a warmth 

Not as in heat or the first pinch of spring 

More like putting on a coat, and the clouds 

Come down to street level to mingle with 

Pedestrians who have changed their gait 

From brisk strides, bright postures, & loud talk 

To walking with arms bundled tight, close 

To their sides, sometimes crossed, heads bent 

Under the slight heaviness of hats & hoods 

In a silence which weighs nothing at all.