On this rare, soft November day,
the air is brilliant yellow, flooded
warm by the sun. Ochre, red,
yellow and dun leaves lie scattered
on the intensely green lawn,
tinted gold by sun, blue by shade.
We rake them into large piles and
stuff clumps of them into huge
crackly brown paper bags that
we stack in rows. Later, drawn
by the day, we drive along the
sparkling blue river to the orchard
on the hillside, for a cool jug of
sweet red cider and a bag of
crisp, juicy apples.
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