Third Season

	My mother calls the autumn “God’s Caprice,”
	Whose breath both hot and cold assaults our cheeks 
	A hint of snow a burst of warming rain,
	And then the furious blast of Arctic cold 

	My father thinks the season “God’s Reward”
	For putting up the final bales of hay
	And cording out the maple’s drying wood 
	It’s time for oiling tools and weathered hands 

	My brother jokes the fall is “God’s Revenge”
	For all the days we played out in the sun 
	The times the swimming hole out-ranked our chores
 	The Saturdays we stayed so late in bed 

	My sister always sings of “God’s Great Love”
	For lighting all our harvest afternoons
	As we bring in the onions and the squash
	To fill our larder shelves with sustenance 

	While we prepare to face the coming snows  
	I bow my head to say a simple prayer
	Of thanks to Him for “God’s Great Gift of Joy”
	In celebration of the winter’s birth 

Next Poem

Fall Harvest

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