Summer’s Last Coronation

The nearly melodic ringing,
        of wooden chimes,
chimes worn and tattered,
by past Winter’s grinds.

By the fire I linger,
buttoning coat and collar
enjoying the moment
watching ashes, spark and shower.

Observing the coronation,
of a nearby tree,
upturned leaves shimmer,
while Summer bends knee.

The tree is anointed,
a rising crown of white,
at the sun’s recession,
shines Summer’s last light.

The walnut grenades thunder
off of; roof , chair and ground,
burrowing divots into earth,
by squirrels to be found.

This night will not be quiet.
The chimes will not hang still,
for it is a breezy wind blowing,
heralding a noisy chill.

A wind that warns with its ringing,
  “Leaves, let go and fall,
your Summer’s reign is o’er,
it is time for Winter's Ball.”

“Yield to the equinox,
look for warmth from within.
Seal all doors and windows,
this cold…, may never end.”

The chimes are just a clanking bother now.
Dead embers lay black.
A turn up of my collar and rising
        It is time and season to go back.