Late in October

Mist rises from the green, green firs.

Down in the valley, a dozen farms

Nestle in harvested fields, wicking warmth

From burnished maples and red cherry boughs.

The air is frigid, defying candle-bright leaves

And the golden-glow sunset.

Waves of pale, dry, feather-light grass

Are snow on the hillside.

Dew caught on spider-silk is cold, cold rain;

There are icicle-clouds clinging to a frosty

Sky up there.

Something beyond the apple-spice

And gypsy drumming in goose wing-beats

Says "Winter."

A Golden Day

In  the poem "October Paint" by Carl Sandburg, someone with an October paint pot runs wild with vivid hues of red and orange and purple; that seems to be the case with this October day. The paint pot spilled bright blue and frosty white all over the sky, splashed gold on the maple trees clustered in the wood and brushed the mountains with purple and grey. When school was over, I took my always-packed nature bag, my poor, breaking rubber boots and a very old purple sweater and walked down to a favourite trail to write about the paint pot. Later today, the five us--being Mama, Daddy, Ladybird and Baby Gavin (he doesn't have a nickname yet)--will go into Dallas for Awana. When we come back, there will  be "deep, dark chocolate cake" (with cherries and whipped cream, of coarse) and I get to see what's inside the mysterious, very alluring packages wrapped nicely and waiting on the entry table :-) ! Because only part of the family  can come tonight, we are having my birthday dinner (Zuppa Tuscana and O' Charley Rolls) on Sunday, with everyone, except for Autumn Rain :-(. But I still look forward to all these fun celebrations and I can't wait to see Autumn Rain at Christmas time!