Smoke hangs like haze over harvested fields,
The gold of stubble, the brown of turned earth
And you walk under the red light of fall
The scent of fallen apples, the dust of threshed grain
There's the sharp, gentle chill of fall.
Here as we move into the shadows of autumn....
~a verse from the Autumn equinox~
This has been one of the longest summers I've spent since childhood.
the days were achingly beautiful under deep blue skies,
the sight of deer bringing their fawns to live in the fields.
15 pairs of ears and eyes
peeking up over the endless waves of wheat waving in the wind.
no sound but for the hum of crickets, the scent of hot sagebrush and juniper in the breeze
and meadowlarks darting from creek to nest.
the fields seemed to grow overnight, stretching towards the gold pink dawns
drinking up every bit of water we gave them, hot in the mid day sun
cool and wet at dusk.
every field of wheat, every leaf of fragrant tumbling mint and rows of
pungent garlic are harvested.
now safe and sound and under cover.
We sit and rest on the edge of the earth and watch the red sun going down over
mountains on fire.
The deer,now grown, walk gingerly through the stubbled wheat.
another season has passed.
and I am grateful that this summer has been as blue skied and never ending
as those summers we knew as children.