Black boots worn while walking on autumn leaves in the front yard of my mother's house.
The days are crisp.
The colors, a mixture of golden hues.
Thanksgiving is in the air. It is good to be home.
Every Monday my mother watches her grandchildren. In the evening she has a dinner for the entire family.
In my mother's yard a wooden house sits on a black chair. Plants grow where a roof use to be. The flowers change with the season… but the house remains the same: rough wood, black chair, with a door that does not lock.
The lone bench sits outside the terrace. The wooden wall is taking color, I do believe everything is turning golden. Or at least I feel the golden energy of home.
Sacha's duck, the one he raised since a duckling, remains with the chickens. He is free to go, to do as he pleases, but he stays with his friends. Sacha is going to be happy – sad. Happy to see his duck again, but sad because the duck does not adventure into the wild.
Autumn floating.
Story telling under the tree. Memory building. Gathering for the seasons ahead.
The two youngest boys in our family racing down the lane.
Winning isn't everything, though it feels good.
The harvested field, with the vast valley outreaching their view.
Living in the country is freedom.
Cousins loving.
A carefree moment.
All is good in the land of plenty.
Have you started to prepare for Thanksgiving?
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