I am thinking of a picture of him I did not take, but wished I had. Its flashed through my minds eye in unexpected moments this week like a new copper penny flipped up into the sun.

We’re heading northwest on Creston Road. Warm and gorgeous, the late summer late afternoon light lays on him after its dance through the miles of sky and the near oaks and his truck’s windows. Lit up are his long blue jeaned legs stretched out on the seat, his tan hand relaxed on the wheel, his sharp white button down shirt, his bright and kind smile curving up to a dimple; all glowing as things do in this harvest time light.? We’d dressed and headed for dinner, our first out together, and found a surprising nervousness and excitement in it – like teens headed to a dance, not sure exactly what to say, shy. I could not stop stealing glances and finally just looked long at him as he drove us further into the honeyed sun thinking: “how beautiful”, and “is this really my life right now?” and “lucky, lucky”.

Such a beautiful time of year, always. In all future ones I will remember this particular year’s late summer, and the sweet harvest being offered up for us.

What is your special harvest this year? ?? Tell me.??? Do you have any poem stories that speak to this?? Share them.? Thank you.

Coming Home at Twilight in Late Summer
We turned into the drive,
and gravel flew up from the tires
like sparks from a fire. So much
to be done — the unpacking, the mail
and papers; the grass needed mowing …
We climbed stiffly out of the car.
The shut-off engine ticked as it cooled.
And then we noticed the pear tree,
the limbs so heavy with fruit
they nearly touched the ground.
We went out to the meadow; our steps
made black holes in the grass:
and we each took a pear,
and ate, and were grateful.
~ Jane Kenyon
Excerpt from “A Late Summer Garden”
She would like time to stop now, the sky, blue as radium,
the hills, bolts of calico, red & yellow, gold & green.
~ Barbara Crooker