Fall is my favorite time to walk through the neighborhood — especially this glorious time between Halloween and Thanksgiving.
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock…
When James Whitcomb Riley wrote about “frost on the punkin,” I know he was thinking of fat pumpkins lying in fields and barnyards. But in our neighborhood, pumpkins line front steps and porches instead.
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
These beautiful russet days dissolve into evening with fading sunshine, a slight chill and an occasional curl of woodsmoke.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
We don’t have corn fields here in the neighborhood. But we do have hickory trees and maples that create swirling showers of scarlet and gold.
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
I love fall.
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