The breezes taste of apple peel. The air is full of smells to feel – ripe fruit, old footballs, burning brush, new books, erasers, chalk and such. The bee, his hive, well-honeyed hum, and Mother cuts Chrysanthemums. Like plates washed clean with suds, the days are polished with a morning haze. – John Updike, September
What lovely images this poem evokes. A nice accompaniment to our September update.