Cornucopia

autumn

and her crisp-cold aaron copland sunrises

majestically wake the world with

long

brassy notes

gather in the harvest

fill your tree with nuts and indian corn

rewind clocks

stack wood in pyramids

free sweaters from cedar chests

lock bounty in mason jars

and deep freezes

snatch whiffs and pigments of abundance

for fade they must

mother earth will soon take her

well-deserved

and long-awaited

nap

Photo of our miracle gourds. After we moved, we noticed a few giant leaves bigger than the regular weeds growing in our rocky topfill. Then we saw vines. "Rogue zucchini!", we thought. Friends were impressed we planted a garden right off the bat. Not so, but miraculously the vines multiplied and produced several dozen gourds without water or care. Archer and I harvested our treasures off of their prickly, hollow hoses hours before the bobcat leveled our land. Autumn really does scream abundance. These reminded me of Blue-eyed Becca's perfectly round pumpkin that grew in the hidden midair of her lilac bush, the lesson being growth can occur when (and where) we least expect it.