Autumn in Montana

It is only the first day of your birth, yet you have already sent your color into the vines that cover the fence. As summer dances to a final song, you darkened the sky and hurled your dampness down from the heavens. You sprinkled the night air with the shiver of change. You are not death, but you are the final gasps of life. So fling your hue across the world and let me drink you in before the silence and stillness of winter turns me to stone.