Harvest Time Toil

Harvest Time Joy

Mother Nature and her merry makers’ moon shadows play across water and sand.
Mating with the wind, the ancient common fire spirals loosely, dancing starward.
Rising close, the harvest moon, swollen and bright, watches all from beyond the nearby pines.
On the shore, backs to the dark, eyes roll back, necks lengthen, mouths posture.
Hill Dog’s chorused howl travels the night.