The trees in autumn are
Lit matches.
The leaves, fired like terracotta,
Coat the mountains with
Warmth from the chill.
The forest floor
Houses salamanders in
Rotted wood set to feed
The current fires
That line the rocky peaks.
With smells that we yearn
To capture
But a candle can’t compare.
It’s something we can
Look forward to;
Those fiery leaves.