The last of our grapes have been harvested
their sweet fruit a memory of summer.
Straggling tomatoes linger on the vine,
little green ones too late to become red.
Leaves have taken on color just before they fall
carried by a chilled wind
forming lofty piles kicked by children.
Wood smoke tendrils fill the morning air
with the fragrance of hearth, home and hope.
Geese fly south in honking formation
clearing the sky of summer’s traffic.
A season-ending has arrived,
its slow progression now wholly upon us.
A new season in the Spirit is also here
having stood in the wings, waiting patiently
to be revealed.
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