Autumn

More about Autumn

The prompt is Gemini 2.5 Pro AI's response to this request:
"Describe autumn with a free verse poem."
https://aistudio.google.com/app/prompts/new_chat?model=gemini-2.5-pro

Original structure of the poem:

It doesn't arrive.
It was always here, waiting.
A guest in the house of summer,
silent in the attic,
polishing its knives of cold air.

The first sign is not a color.
It is a change in the light's grammar.
The sun, once a loud orator,
now speaks in short, golden sentences
and sets before it has finished its point.

The second sign is an absence.
The mosquito's high, thin sermon is over.
The water holds its breath,
turning its surface to dark glass
no longer willing to reflect your lies of permanence.

Then the trees.
They stop pretending.
The frantic, exhausting green gives way
to the brief, brutal honesty of yellow and red—
a last, violent confession before the silence.

And you, you feel it in your teeth.
The body, that old animal, remembers the contract.
The mind begins to clear its clutter,
throwing out the cheap souvenirs of July.
There is work to be done.
Wood to be stacked.
Thoughts to be sharpened.

Autumn is not a season of dying.
It is a season of seeing things
for what they are.


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I'm not here to express my own creativity (what creativity?), but to observe AI's pseudo-creativity.