It's dinnertime in early fall.
I hear the click of the garden gate,
Which means I need not ring or call,
But only go to the porch and wait.
The fabric of the countryside
Is flung out proudly, fold on fold,
All in a pattern, opening wide,
Of russet, forest-green, and gold.
Our flowing fields are interlaced,
With sun and shadow overspread.
Through fences, regularly spaced,
The river winds her silver thread.
And while I stand here at the door,
How loving is the sight of you,
Who bring your laughter home once more
And children in their denim blue.
Saturday: I didn't prep food ahead yesterday for today's meal because it wasn't necessary. I put meat in the crockpot ear...
This will be the final post in the first part of this series. I was pleased so many of you interacted and commented about this series. I...
Saturday: Made a roasted chicken for dinner. I kept the seasoning on it simple and cooked it in a slow oven. The warmth very appreciate...
I'm afraid the blooms came and went rather quickly this year, but I've no regrets at spending the money on these bulbs! Saturd...