Harvest Time

HARVEST TIME Golden yellows, mixed by rum reds, Plum lavenders spice, these are the Colors of autumn. Textures layers blown across the lawn, Leave it lay, rake it not, this variations Of decorations variety. Rarities design by mistake, and Happenstance, but with such beauty's Detail, one must stop and wonder, At it's awesome natural splendor. Even the evergreens fall silent, to A hushed whisper, to marvel at The canvas, spread out before them. Rustling not a quivers motion, As a crisp, chilling, October wind Brushes against their thorny pine Needles. Nature does rest at a paused stillness, Soon she'll slumber, beneath the winters Blanket of ice and snow. Nay, not to the last leaf falls, in a twilight Sleep, than to dream, once more of spring Eternal. Now it is harvest time, men pick the Final ripened fruit from their orchards, Glen the fields of hay and straw to the Last roots foundation. Family members gather, from far and Near, to give thanks for a bountiful Harvest. A season of thanksgiving, good will And cheer, with warm apple cider, and Pumpkin pie. In mystery's dexterity, the maiden Does sigh softy, with a peaceful Good night, to the world of men. Than ever so slowly closes her Eyes gently, til the warmth of Spring time reawakens, mother Nature once again. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN