Poetry Challenge 54

Never Ready

The other day I smelled highbush cranberries ripening on the hillside above our house. When they’re nearly ready to pick, they give off a sour-sweet smell that is a distinct sign of fall here in the Interior. Within days, the bushes themselves stand out like flame in the browning underbrush; the leaves turn bright red, making it easy to find the berries beneath.

And at the first drift of that scent, we realize that summer’s over and we’re officially behind on winter chores. All Labor Day weekend, as we struggled to build the new manure composting bins, we could hear the sound of hammers and saws from houses all around the neighborhood,as neighbors hurried to finish summer outdoor projects or to winterize their houses.

Sunday the sky was clear and blue; today, rain and socked-in gray. The leaves along the road are gold and brown and orange and green. The flowers still bloom–there’s color everywhere.

So write about what triggers the hurry of fall for you–what’s left undone from summer? What do you still have time to do one more time before the season changes? What are the smells, the sounds, the colors?
What changes in you?

Write something and post it in comments and I’ll post it here.

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