This is to My Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, proving yourselves to be My disciples.
John 15:8
Ripe, rosy, rich forest fruit
on shadowy September day;
a harvest for forest friends.
Glistening goldenrod swaying,
swinging in the tepid breeze;
amusement for buzzing bees.
Chattery chipmunks climbing
limb to limb; acorns tucked
deep within furry, puffed cheeks.
Saffron sun, gauzy cloudy gaze;
tenderly veils the fruit of fall days.
A moment to salute Summer’s farewell .
Patti Wolf 