Autumn gold

It's another day
the morning sun is greeted by 
sharp crispness in the air.
Harvesting is stretching to it's ending,
winter is drawing near,
in between this passage calls for 
a special time of the year.
We call it Indian summer showing
us the good lord took a light 
feather and brushed all the hills
down below.
As I sit on one of these hills, 
an open book at my feet trying to
steel time pages turn by themselves,

a soft breeze around me help me
imagine a child up on these hills, 

searches the land of his fathers, 

lost in his taught recalling human pains, 

knows that on these hills quietness and solitude,
God helps us to endure.
My eyes are this land window,
peace is found within my soul,
upon these hills of Autumn,
that are strewn with red and gold.