The fall gardening chores are becoming as real as the shortening days.
I resist this back to school , celebrate the apples, and plunk mums everywhere season.
Wearing shorts in defiance and thinking about Halloween the day of.
I play hard to get , until swooning over the light and the colours I am won over yet again.
I want to run my hand over the fields that soften our highways. Like wool needlepoint carpets of autumn gold and mushroom and plum.
Leaves will crunch beneath me.
Blow and swirl and bring change and promise.
Berries blink from holly and cotoneaster, lily of the valley and dogwood.
Stop and yield and go.