Harvest
As soon as summer's heat descendsthe smell of fall is there-
Pumpkin spice and wood ablaze,
and the thinning of the air.
"Tis a time for crisp, cool weather,
earth tones warm and bright.
A time for harvest, apple cider,
for clear skies, day and night.
The sounds of children's laughter,
the hiss of scattered grain.
The sight of combine, plow, and empty fields
'cross the Indiana plain.
Watch-as leaves drift downward-
an ageless dance, the season's show.
We snuggle with family, home and hearth
before the cold, before the snow.
TJC
09/07/10
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