The air is as crisp as freshly bitten apples; the tanginess of cider, the clarity of transmuting, ocean blues.
The leaves begin their transition to the graininess and colour of Bosc and russet pears; soon to crunch underfoot, gritty and crumbling, preparing to transform from vividly coloured heaps to brightly burning bonfire piles.
Corn mazes, hayrides, shelves of jewel-toned jam jars, and pumpkin pie-spiced pies as everything.
Soon, costumes, cellophane-wrapped candies, and candlelit, carved squash faces will light the porches in an attempt to mimic the Harvest moon.
Ronda R. Scott-Marak
26 September 2026
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