My lovely woman-child and I are trekking to the mountains of North Carolina in two weeks to laze around the cabin of a friend for a few days and walk in the leaves. She and I last walked together through oceans of golden and umber leaves in Ohio when she was a little over a year old, so I think it is time that she again see the glory that is the fall in the north. We will be accompanied by Miss Daisy, the fuzz-covered wildebeast who will romp through the woods with us and allegedly provide us with companionship and protection. The GITB will be home rebuilding the deck. In gratitude, I offer a poem about Autumn:
On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
PS--hey Amber--wanna come along?
