Crisp is the air with fallen leaves dried up and ready to ruffle; Brisk birds are begirding the town as daylight breaks the sky. Rare is the day with warmth bound to reflect of the quay; Brats, Cubs, Boys and Girls are planning an outdoor gambol. Autumn is the season, yet the rise in Mercury stirs up souls; The sailors are ready to undock their boats in brief. Sunny is the call, the weatherman made not just for shoals; The bikers are unchaining their helmets to go on the reef. Green is still the color, the grass withering the season; The greenskeepers and growers are out to rake and mulch. Frigid is the ground, the frost affecting the vegetation; The runners and skaters are drying up their sweaty drench. Change is the order, what the day brings with it; Confounded and Elated, All welcoming it. To each is his own, their love for the Sun; A "seasonal anomaly", sure, every now and then.