Autumn In Motion — California Poem by Natasa To

Golden hills breathe out a sigh,

dust and chaparral shift in the wind.

Leaves don't blaze as in the East—

they shimmer, slow,

a copper shimmer against eucalyptus blue.



Fog rolls in from the Pacific,

folding highways into hushed gray ribbons.

Vineyards turn like dancers,

rows of vines curling from green to ember,

the grapes already gone,

but the memory of sweetness lingers.



Pumpkins gather in roadside patches,

oranges and reds spilling forward,

as if the earth is laughing in round syllables.



In the Sierra, the aspens ignite—

their coins of gold trembling

in crisp mountain air,

a thousand tiny hands applauding

the season's arrival.



California fall is never still.

It runs—

from coast to desert,

from valley floor to granite peak,

a tide of color and scent,

always moving,

always fleeting,

yet forever returning

like the long shadows of evening.