I awoke in the Shire this morning during the dark hours before dawn,
and by lunch time I was traveling through cornfields and milo fields
and soybean fields hundreds and hundreds of miles from home.
I like to see new places, to experience new things,
but a little part of me always wishes I were still in the Shire,
abiding in the familiar.
At home, summer still holds on to the land,
betrayed by an occasional leaf of red or yellow.
Here in the southwestern part of Illinois,
the corn leaves have already turned golden
and the stalks are drier, so there is no hiding autumn's approach.
In a few weeks, the corn silk will darken to a deep, rich mahogany color.
And dust will fly as the corn is harvested,
and hundreds of blackbirds will maraud across the broken earth
to gobble the last kernels of fallen corn.
But early autumn isn't really a twilight.
Poet James Thomason wrote:
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined,
and spreads a common feast for all that live.
So shine on, Autumn,
wherever and whenever you arrive ...