Please excuse these haikus. I am by no means a poet, and these haikus may fail sadly at doing what poems are supposed to do: convey feelings from the writer to the reader. But here you are, anyway:
Crisp leaves skittering
Behind cars along the road:
A cherished fall noise.
Days growing shorter,
Leaves change color and fall fast.
Where did the yard go?
Children make a graph:
Red, yellow, or green apples?
Learning to love fruit.
Put on long-sleeved shirt
Take off, put back on again,
This tree (pictured below) is in the lawn in front of our house. In the past week it has gone from green to brilliant yellow and dropped at least half of its leaves on our lawn. I mourn the quick loss of leaves not only because it means we have to make time to rake them up but also because I enjoy seeing the tree such a cheery color. I wish it would savor its fall colors like I do instead of getting rid of them so fast. Please, tree, show some consideration.
This is an apple oatmeal bake that Handsome and Wonderful Husband made for me a few mornings ago. He oh-so-wisely put the dish in the oven the night before and set the timer on the oven to bake so that it would be done about when he was finishing with his shower.
We don’t normally do this kind of thing for breakfast because I don’t think of it. But when we do it makes me soooooo happy. When Husband’s parents came last weekend, they brought with them bags of apples (and when I say ‘bags,’ I don’t mean little-brown-lunch-bag bags, I mean, ready-to-grocery-shop-for-the-whole-family bags), which has incited us to an apple-cooking frenzy.
This apple oatmeal bake was a product of that frenzy, and I am so thankful to Husband’s Wonderful Parents.