Deep unfathomable depth of blue; the sky comes down to touch the very ground, waving with wheat sown and tended to grow, to fill the emptiness in our lives. Brown and golden, all shining like little beacons of light, glittering as they wave: Back and forth, together as one, an ocean of light.

And the wind blows, warm, scattering the dust, born from the heat. It travels through the cracks in the old barn, coating the floor with a light sand in which to make our footprints. The shadows within are cool: a musty alternative to the fresh air outside its walls. But sheltering.

Summer has come to a close
The air is cool and dry,
The fields are golden
The leaves are turning red.
Fall has come.

Sheaves of grain stacked
In neat rows scatter the field.
Men, women and children
Harves the succulent wheat.
Fall has come.

Hearts gladden at the full harvest.
Birds fly south to warmer homes
Summer and its memories are gone,
Fall is here, with many to make.
Fall has gome.