An Evening in September
Ann Christine TabakaEvening reaches across and blankets the land.
Tall stalks kissed pink by the glow of the setting sun.
Row after row of fence posts stand at attention.
A lone crow perched atop a rail surveys the expanse.
In the field a one-eyed scarecrow stares back menacingly.
Darkness falls earlier as the hours of daylight abate.
Soon harvest time will arrive with its thunderous
mechanical beasts looming over the landscape,
belching black smoke and churning up clouds of dust,
as they reap the golden crops.
As the harvesters cleave the shafts they will leave
the refuse in their wake like so many fallen soldiers.
The crow looks over the bounty of ripe grain,
aware that it will soon be time for him to go.
Flying to a place of safety far from the noisy
metal monsters that now sit on the horizon in wait.
The scarecrow smiles knowing he has done his job well.
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