The strong warm wind of a cool overcast Saturday morning kept trying to sweep my broad brim hat from my head. Midway up a curbside maple a small red flame waved at the end of an extended branch, a signal for the coming full autumn burn. Nearby trees exposed only solitary bare branches, so stark next to the end of summer green. The balmy wind continued to whip through the sheltered stalls of the Farmer’s Market, carrying the welcomed fragrances of the autumn harvest through the crowd. The stunning array of fruits and vegetables shine as though painted with gloss greens, purples, reds, yellows and whites stacked next to shiny jars of homemade jams and jellies. I rejoiced in the good fortune of bounty and the ability to partake as I bought a round of crusty bread, too expensive for super markets, but so much tastier. And with the selection of a small rhubarb pie, my pace was quick to the burgundy Ford before the rain. This morning with hot coffee, I offered thanks for vivid recall as trees continue to wave and bend. Peace.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 13:11:04 +0000
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