Old Dusty and the Return

Wild wind blows across the porch
Leaves wander and run away
The trees sway
Everything I pick up either has rust or dust on it
Colors fade
The sky is in a dull color
Invisible chickens run around
Looking for one more worm
Conspiracy is on the step
I plunder my mailbox in search of packages
Packages of Christmas and birthdays
A train seems to be coming
Birds fly for hours
The moon waits 
And the fireplace burns wood
What a strange season.