Fall is the wind blowing through dry crackling leaves and the crunch of dry meadow grasses. It’s the cottontails tucking in under the porch and into the lilac bushes. Flocks of geese flying over, the sounds of their honking encouraging the leader. Dry corn shucks littering the dirt road and the browns and beiges of the pastures brightened by the blue skies.
The creak of the hay wagon under the weight of big round bales and the putter of the little Z as she gathers cattle to her call to feed. The easing of long days into gentle crisp sun rises and long dark nights filled with stars to rest down even the most difficult day.
My apple tree sings the songs of Christmas lights. Wait, I say. Not yet. Cattle are home and bulls banter with nothing better to do. Horses begin to put on their warm winter coats. And I consider the state of my Carhartt.
