Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.
Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.
Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.
The calling of a crow sounds
loud—a landmark—now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.
***
panache, perhaps 
We have a similar vista in NC. The crunch underfoot makes silent forest walks impossible. Canadian geese and wild turkey shoulder fat cattle in the ample grazing pastures. We decided to remain North an extra month this year to experience the season change.
Had a vegan dinner with Sarah and David in Asheville last night. Yay!