The Harvest Moon is hanging low in the heavens. Shining its shimmering colors in the cool autumn air.
A call of the loon is being sung as his last song while gliding across the lustrous glowing water.
Migrating geese fly overhead flapping their wings to a unison beat.
And the wind blows through the Eastern white pine trees speaking a voice.
With all its soul-stirring the spirits.
How I love the Harvest Moon.
KCDoberstein