Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
of harvest or pestilence.
And the wife leaning out the window
with her hand extended, as in payment,
and the seeds
distinct, gold, calling
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree.
Poem: All Hallows by Louise Glück
Products: patterned paper (Webster's Pages, Pink Paislee, and Basic Grey), pearls (Michaels Stores Inc.), Mini Halloween Bingo Cards (Jenni Bowlin Studios), kraft tree (Bank Creek Creations), Deco Pins (Making Memories)