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.
One of my revamped summer wreaths dressed for early autumn Saturday: John said that we simply HAD to get out o...
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...