Harvest
by Bekki Titchner

The kitchen is quiet.
Filled canning jars are cooling on the table.
The slant of light is different now, days shorter and evenings cooler.
The crickets are chirping; fall is on its way.
But before the pumpkins,
Before the scarecrows,
Before the final burst of color
There is the harvest.
Food put up for the cold months ahead, preparing for the time 
when the birdsong is replaced by departing geese 
and when the heat of August is replaced with October winds.
The kitchen is quiet.
The crickets are chirping.
And each jar holds within it a small piece of summer.