Potrait of an Autumn Afternoon

There's nothing quite like an autumn day in the country...

Hay bales don't look so mountainous as they used to, now that you're a big kid. You stand there for a moment, surveying the biggest bale, contemplating the best way to mount it. Running jump? Frantic scramble? Maybe you should hop on from a smaller one? No matter. It's fun however you decide. You hoist yourself up; the bale wobbles a little, but you're not scared. You've had a lot of experience. As a matter of fact, you settle down with a little extra wiggle and bounce, just because you like the feeling of knowing you won't fall.

From up here, you can see the whole field. It's almost like being in the middle of nowhere... too bad you can still see the house. But it's okay. You turn your gaze from the field to the trees behind you at the sound of a ripe persimmon hitting the ground. Looking up, you see the contrast of skeletal branches, still holding their plump, orange fruit, against the clear, blue sky. You hug yourself as the breeze whispers a little more loudly than usual, telling a few more persimmons to let go. Maybe you should hop down and try one? You've never been really fond of their strange, orangey gooeyness, but how can you help not tasting something that looks so pretty? You decide not to. It would be too inconvenient... you're awf'ly comfortable.

Yawning, you lie down on the warm hay. Warm hay smells so nice. It prickles a little, but somehow it's a comforting, friendly type of prickle. Sunshine pours over you, warming your face, and soaking into your jeans. Eyes closed, you sigh contentedly, thinking of nothing, but perfectly happy in the moment.

Until some little six-legged bugger decides you're offensive.