All the trees fly their colorful leaves
Under the cool, bright blue sky.
The smell of freshly sharpened pencils and brand-new notebooks fills the air, and
Urges for warm blankets and old movies descend upon me.
My love for this in-between season is everlasting.
Nothing like the nights that are just right crisp for a get-together under a pavilion and around a fire.

Laughter from children playing in piles of leaves brings back memories.
Each day I like to watch the little tornadoes of dead leaves swirl,
Always looking like dancing fairies,
Very fast and uncatchable as they travel down the street, 
Ethereal and going to a haunted forest.
Smoke from wood fires wafts into the air, and brings the smell of ghostly times.