by Joann Storck
I walked the lane where the tree people used to talk to each other about the children who were passing by. They were silent today.
I looked up to see if the sky were as tantalizingly blue like it always was in the golden days. It was one shade off.
I passed through the stalks of corn standing straight, brown, and sturdy waiting to be picked. The cobs held only gold kernels: none of them were maroon.
The tables that held all the mums, pumpkins and gourds stand on only 3 legs if any at all. Neglect claimed their usefulness.
I closed my eyes and cocked my head to listen for the sound of the hay wagon returning its passengers, happy and pleased. It was faint, but I can still hear it with my heart.
I made a wish and blew a kiss to the moon that you are watching us keeping you near.