Now come the golden days,
mornings filled with fog,
nights where cricket song
floats through crisp, cool air.
On the roads, yellow buses roll
past once more with laughing children
peering from their windows.
Goldenrod fills the meadow;
wild sunflowers line the creeks.
In the fields, beans, corn, pumpkins
and squash race toward their fruition.
And the fragrance and feel of it all wakes us,
and we turn the calendar’s page.