Harvest Dance

Green gives way to gold and gold to auburn, red and brown. The Mother ambles her way endlessly, twisting towards another icy season, but now: Now the bite of the breeze is a respite from summer's endless days. The crescent of the moon hangs low over eerily calm roads, lined by ripened and orderly groves, the cawing of a crow the only sound that echoes out across that plain of plenty, stretching even to the sliver of fire yet straining to keep it's hold on the earth, but giving way to darkening skies, whose blues rival brilliant jewels in spectrum and color.

Leaves blow listlessly across the neatly pruned walkways, the boughs of deciduous trees forming canopies over lovers wearing homespun sweaters and walking close. They arrive home, the voices of families gathered together to enjoy the company; the food; the warmth. Scents mingle in the air; bowls and platters of food prepared from worn and tested recipes- the children mischeviously tasting with fingers for the first time what older tongues are familiar with.

Soon, it will be winter, and cold will grip the land again. But for now, the hearth blazes, the music is playing and the dance goes on...