Laughter rang across the open field from the orchard beyond. The source of the sound hidden amongst the changing leaves. Although the sun still shone brightly in the sky, autumn was taking firm grasp of the world. Frost had crept in during the night leaving drooping, dying plants in its wake; wide leaves no longer hiding their bright orange treasures.
Soon wisps of fine gray smoke would waft above the red brick chimney of the small home. Baskets of shiny red apples would be peeled, cored, and sliced. The tangy odor of rising bread would mix with cinnamon and citrus. Cocoa and hot toddies would be savored.
Bright colors would please the eyes. The rich burgundy of cranberry sauce punctuated by bright orange peel, the various golden browns of baked bread, roast turkey and apple cobbler, the creamy white of smashed potatoes with the soft yellow of melting butter, the bright green of string beans, and the deep orange of pumpkin pie.
Most importantly, the home would fill with friends, family, and love as they took time to be thankful for all the blessings they had, big or small.
The writer who held things together, the marine who kept them safe, the niece who made them laugh, the munchkin who made them smile, the corpsman who watched over them, and the friend who loved them all.
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