Still.

We'll wake in the morn' and sparkles will be 

Etched on the windows for all soon to see. 

Etched by great artists inspired in the night 

Who then run away before dawn's early light.

Fat little bushy-tails darting about 

Fill up their nests until nuts tumble out. 

Now from the treetops their barks ring aloud 

Daring the gray sky to show a snow cloud.

"Straighten formation," the honks seem to call, 

As "V's" move across above leafless trees tall. 

Winging now southward, they've no time to test 

The cold Northland lakes inviting a rest.

Scurrying squirrels and geese on the fly 

Warn us that soon we will look to the sky 

And feel the sharpness of winter cold near. 

Flittering flurries to eyes bring a tear.

Straw colored stalks with cobs hanging down 

Stand in the fields of rich soil brown. 

Waiting for prices to rise up and meet 

Numbers our farmers suspect they can't beat.

Hay-mows are filled with the last cut this year. 

Now until springtime there's nothing to fear. 

Food and soft bedding for animals kept 

Close to the place where for years they have slept.

Cornfields and Barns clearly signal the time. 

The smell of fresh leaves and woodsmoke will climb 

Into a sky where they meet with the chill 

Of fall in the Northland-- with everything still.

Donald E. Feltch