When the frost is on the punkin

O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...

	Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock— When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

-James Whitcomb Riley

As my mother and I would leave our home to walk the few blocks to elementary school, she would quote lines from this fellow Hoosier's famous fall poem. Our breath turned to steam as we crunched over silvery leaves and gilded corn husks. And this season, surrounded by beautiful everyday graces...I think Mr. Riley had it right. "it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock"