“Is this heaven?”
“Iowa. I could have sworn it was heaven.”– Field of Dreams
If I have a choice in the matter, October in Missouri will be my Heaven.
The colors of autumn, bronze and orange, butter-gold and green.
The breeze in the evening, cool with a tang unlike any other time of the year.
Halcyon skies are crystalline, the skies especially blue.
Cows bawl at feeding time.
Turkeys warble in the misty dawn.
Leaves tumble and wrestle, caught in a dust devil.
The bustle of combines and trucks, tractors and people.
Yellow corn hisses down the bed of a truck and into the jaws of the auger. Men hurry, cuss mightily at mechanical breakdowns, calls of ‘bring dinner to the field’.
Late nights. Early mornings.
Harvest. Of Time immortal.
Heaven came down
And Glory filled my soul.