Autumn in Texas Poem

In the Texas Hill Country, autumn arrives like a slow-burning sunset. The oak and pecan trees shift from deep green to golden amber, spilling warm hues across rolling hills. Mornings carry a crispness that bites the air but softens in the afternoon sun, and wildflowers fade gracefully into the harvest season. Small towns hum with pumpkin patches, cider stands, and the faint scent of wood smoke drifting from stone chimneys, while the horizon glows with endless skies that make the land feel both vast and intimate. Here, fall isn’t just a season—it’s a Texas-sized pause, a chance to breathe in the colors, the warmth, and the quiet magic of the hills.

My poem I wrote about Autumn in Texas.

The mesquite hums a golden tune,
and copper sunlight burns at noon.
Bluebonnets fade, their ghosts remain,
while pumpkin patches swell like grain.

The pecan trees drop brittle shells,
and wind sifts through forgotten wells.
Cattle low beneath a bruised sky,
and crimson leaves in tumbleweeds fly.

Oaks and elms in slow descent,
cloak the land in amber scent.
Evening chills the desert air,
but fireflies still flicker there.

Here the frost is shy, yet bold,
and sunsets paint in marigold.
Autumn whispers, soft, profound—
a Texas heart, untamed, unbound.