From The House of Edward

Far Too Clear

There are pumpkins in the fields awaiting faces. Patient, sedentary, they sit in their orangeness neath a low hanging moon.....

The acorns have begun to fall. Tiny and green, in tophats, they patter the roof like buckshot, giggling as they hurtle down - rolling, rolling, to a final stop under the purple cabbage leaves.....

Equal in size to the paw prints of wolfhounds, the horrid spiders traipse across their webs of silver lace, while overnight, a neighborhood of downy white toadstools has appeared under the magnolia tree - ample seating for any future prince who ventures up from the stream at the bottom of the hill in search of a life-altering kiss....

Late in the cool afternoon we hear the geese approaching. A feathered boomerang offering up baroque chants, in its unknown tongue of the season....

And the mezzo-soprano of the old silver teakettle sings much more frequently now....

Man’s calendar wants to wait for one more week but we know better.
The signs are far too clear.

Summer has at last departed and Autumn is now here.

Watercolour by Charles Russell Loomis