Only to those
who live behind the shaded,
shuttered windows;

to those
who leave at dawn,
half awake
   for the morning commute,
red-eyed and weary,
lost in thought.

who do not see
the maple on the corner
turned from green to flame,
transformed by autumn
to a splendor only tourists notice.

It might seem to be
a dreary street in a dreary town
but for the piano notes that slip out
through the curtained cottage window
to mingle with the season’s
swirling leaves.