Turn

The sky, timeless and tireless, finds a slanted ray and my New England edges toward burnt umber and cinnamoned orange. The day lilies yawn. Butterflys and dragonflys laze, suckling swaddled nectar. Vigor fills the night air as mums awaken, brisk -- bounty unfurling. A soft haze falls into the day; sky-lit gold shimmers into gloaming as rolls of hay dot the fields and bands play last hurrahs at Hopkinton Fair. The vines, pumpkin filled, surround the sounds of sheep and hawkers. Labor Day, school has started, wood stacked for the burning. Brass kettles ready. New England waits for the crimson edges as summer leaves: Turn.