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The wind is whispering through

The sweetgum  tree.

Sunlight awash, warming us.

The rickety buildings,

Weathered by time,

Stand proudly.

Apples fall in the meadow nearby,

One or two still hanging on for life.

Scuppernong grapes sprout from vines

That defy the season.

Leaves have begun to fall,

Drifting in their hypnotic dance-

Rustle, rustle, sway, sway…

And the horses are talking about

The impending winter…

But now we warm ourselves

In this glorious sun,

Feel tall grass between naked toes

And know that a place like this is home.