Gold Dust

Sunrise rays through the dust
Of freshly plowed under corn stalks
Dull golden shine
On sparkling speckles in the haze

The harvest reaping
Of toils and tillings
Fill the larders
With flakes of grain trimmings
To feed the beasts

Fresh sunrise on cotton boles
Ripe with blue jean comforts
Half shaded in the new light muted tan
Waiting for the leaves to drop as well

Silage trucks line the fields
Sitting empty and silent
Waiting with coffee in hand
To have their loads filled

Crows in the oaks conspire overhead
Yelling and blasting incoherent jokes
Poking fun at the plow's straight rowed turnings
Revelling in this year's acorn grub crop
As being much greater
Than last year's rotational feastings

Hollowed paths among the oaks
Beckon for the weary traveler
To follow down dusted lanes and ditch bank alleys
Spotted with those dilapidated habitations
Old red barn ruins
And little white shanties long forgotten

School children released
To the fields of play
When the afternoon bell reverbs

Drifting into friendly interaction
In the dreamy afternoon sun
Shining through high thin clouds
In a soft toned down shine
White like the heaven of childhood memories
In the early autumn days