There’s sausage on the stove and a baby on the floor.
Summer sweats and sings, “Hold the pumpkins! Hold the spice!”
But the Season’s ending, the seasonings are beckoning, so it’s nutmeg and cinnamon with a hint of hazelnut.
In September we wander the dairy at dusk
and console ourselves with dirt and hay, some brand new spots.
The world’s a quiet sizzle with a mild breeze…
And we tumble into autumn with our arms full.
Sing it!
Life’s a water balloon fight, it’s a cheerful baby sneeze.
“They shall eagerly utter the memory of Your abundant goodness and will shout joyfully of Your righteousness.” Psalm 145:7
472-485 of my gratitude list. click below to start yours:
Thanks for the early morning smile.
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Precious pictures…nothing quite so sweet as a sleeping baby. Have a nice week!
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So sweet!
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Oh, my! That baby's cheeks! š
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“And we tumble into autumn with our arms full.”
Yes, indeed. Your arms are full.
Among other things.
So bless you and that cheerful baby sneeze.
p.s. I'm also a fan of nutmeg and those brand new spots. Welcome, fall!
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you're a poet, my dear – and i love this song you're singing…
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I read the line and thought it sounded like a country song. I really do want to put a hold on the pumpkins and spice–feeling a little melancholy about having my lovely summer stolen away from me. At least your words are lovely. Sigh.
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Sighhhh. I miss your words when I'm not here. You know what you're doing on this blog, don't you? You're collecting your beautiful poetry. There is no other finer book of poems than the one that lies within these cyber pages. Truly.
And those baby cows bring back such memories. Did I ever tell you, I was once a cowgirl? That's right. We raised calves when I was a child. We kept them for their first year, until they were mighty things and then they went to the ranch where, when they were fattened up enough, they became our steaks and burgers. I know, brutal. But I was a farm girl. I knew no different. My siblings and I were responsible for feeding those calves. Which meant getting up around 5:00, when they started bawling for their bottle, taking the sterilized bottle, trudging out to the calf pen and feeding those guys while still half asleep. If the bottle fell to the ground, which often it did, because calves are notorious head butters, you had to trudge the way too long path, back to the house, to get the bottle re-sterilized since certain soil germs can kill a calf if ingested.
I hated those days, but I think, maybe just once, I'd like to relive feeding a calf.
Now, get back to writing that gorgeous poetry. I promise to come around more.
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pure poetry, you. so good. so good. and that baby of yours? i want to eat him.
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I love that expression on Sheldon's face! So cute!!!
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“Summer sweats and sings, “Hold the pumpkins! Hold the spice!”- you kill me with your brillant self every time.
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you are beautiful and your words, too, and those photos… precious loves! š
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