Change In The Weather (Poetry)

The trees are no longer still;
branches plunge and toss,
spooked, like stallions rearing,
breaking reins of Summer,
their flying manes of leaves
turned urgent, heaving golden
in the snorting wind.

They paw the sky;
the whistling air is moist
as Autumn breathes
a gusty threat of rain —
unsettling the woods
and orchards, prematurely dark,
where apples tremble

as if they sense the change:
the late season’s switch —
suddenly ungentle,
turned weather-wild and wet
with skulking menace:
clouds caught wolf-packing
hunting, grey, on hills.