Stiff, the winds of north upon
the western flowing plain.
Charismatically bending the
grains, the limbs of the apple,
the vine of the gourd.

Squeaking shudders, moans of
the wind mill, occasional slam
of a forgotten door beyond the
rustic beauty of a farmland home.

Sun’s set shall sprinkle the
heaven’s in a universe of
twinkle.And as the hens
nestle upon the egg, the dozing
rooster awaits the peak of
dawn.

Smells of bacon, biscuits, red-eye
gravy intermingled with the roasted
bean perking rhythmically upon the
generations old iron stove stoked
by glowing logs of oaken hue.

A wandering wisp of smoke awaits
the swirl of the northern breath. The
hound huddles beneath a rickety
porch once haven to countless fantasy
wars and hide and seek....

And as the cock crows the waking
light, a shudder drawn open shows
all of God’s glory...

Awaiting the harvest moon....