What would old McGregor say: thoughts in an autumn garden

What would old McGregor say if he wasn’t too busy chasing rabbits and stopped long enough to notice the creeping ebb of color

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If he quit worrying long enough about the straight rows

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And saw that the fruit wasn’t ripe within the fences but rather

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Well beyond them

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What would old McGregor say

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If he noticed the sun angling lower along the horizon igniting truth in long forgotten places

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And secrets waiting to be told

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be still and fall

is the orange i see

creeping

into the pulsing, green of things

a blessing

or a time to

be still

and know that autumn

always falls curling

the edges of sunshine soaked things

angled daylight spotlighting

ochre

a shade between

blazing red maples

and yellow aspen

waiting for the day

they tumble

to the ground

grateful to become

forgotten

then remembered

in the spring

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written for the One Word at a Time blog carnival, this week’s topic: orange.