Oak crisps and iron skies: October haiku

Scent of tree bark
and earth, I crunch
through the forest.

Warm acorns
flecked with gold:
our child’s hazel eyes.

Maples sway,
dangling rubies
in the sun.

Saffron sheaves
tremble – a rustle
of skirts.

Under iron clouds
leaves rattle –
paper husks before a storm.

Shiver, shudder, swivel,
SNAP –
and twirl free.

End over end,
an oak leaf
tumbles.

Gold coins caught
in tender green needles – bright
ornaments for autumn.

I scratch broom across
stone, drawing mossy oak spices.
A crow caws.

Late afternoon:
cool wine, a
strong slant of light.