Driving the country road
that skirts the Applegate
sweet river running clear
as it meanders
on its way to join the Rogue
the mid-October sun
setting the air
a-shimmer as I drove
homeward and happy
along the valley floor
I passed a sign
that advertised ripe melons
beside a roadside farm stand
with a wealth of vegetables and fruit
set out on tables
no one keeping tabs
but prices noted
and a box for folks
to leave their money in
I thought how lovely
both the harvest and the trust
and wondered with the heat
the summer fires
and talk of the new normal
would there be a farm
like this one selling fruit
in thirty years
when my grandchildren have reached
their parents' age
and felt a pang of conscience
but soon washed over
by a wave of gratitude
for all the season's gifts
the harvest of the farms
the ripened grapes
with their promise of new wine
the senses quickening
as chilly nights
and days of crystal clarity
set miles of maple trees aflame