-This poem reflects on pumpkins in a field after autumn rain, where dark soil, lifted leaves, reflected sky, and the work of gathering reveal the harvest through color, weight, and small signs of life.
The rain has polished every rind,
and darkened earth between the rows,
while pumpkins rest on flattened vines,
their orange deep against the soil.
The broad leaves sag beneath the drops,
their silver undersides exposed,
a field mouse slips beneath one stem,
then vanishes among the weeds.
By noon, the clouds begin to lift,
and sunlight gathers in the rain;
each hollow near the curling vines
reflects a patch of broken sky.
At dusk, we cut the thickened stems
and carry two toward the shed;
behind us, one round pumpkin shines
beside a crow’s three-pronged track.