Now all grown, but forever my pumpkins.

And the knowing that things will change.

Resting in the afternoon glow, gearing up for the seasonal shift and then lights out.

Inviting us in for a plunge on the eleventh hour cuz it’s never too late, nor too nippy for a sanctification.

Cuz it’s warm and golden out there.

And the fella munching his way through it.

For landing on my cheek.

For landing in a sunny spot.

Dispatches from the zone while candle wicks a sputter.