Harvest Moon
The Harvest Moon of late summer The quail people climb into the Willows at dusk, the bats of the night shift fly out to feast on bugs. Frogs croak, crickets sing, the nightly summer chorus begins. The Coyotes howl as they do on Full Moons That primal, haunting cacophony. I smile to myself and allow the sound to embrace my feral self. I may not be fit for human ways anymore. Sunflowers bow their heads to the fading sun. The Earth brings forth her best, both bearing fruit and seed,while getting ready to retreat for winters rest. Deer visit frequently, young bucks, rutting season will start soon. Anytime the wild ones show, I get lost in wonder. There is no fear, just pure experience. The wild ways, creatures in charge of their own volition, keeping time with ancient song. I linger and watch, cause God came to visit in a place where all life matters. The season of gratitude begins