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Prose of Leslie W. Paine

October Interlude

By Leslie W. Paine of Canadice NY

From the Canadice Chronicle, October 1990

High up on a ridge, not far from a lake,

Strays a small country road out there through the hills.

Uncertain it wanders - which way will it take?

Deserted, abandoned, so desolate here,

Decayed former farmstead, where life was once dear.

But, see! Living memories of pioneers’ deeds and their love

Shine out in the rich yellow maples

They planted those years long ago.

Gold light of soft warming sunshine

Enchants, as it sifts through the intertwined branches above

October’s magic invites to explore.

Held never a plan but sought further thrills.

Down in a valley stands a green maple tree

Splashed crimson on leaf tips, in lavish display,

As if modern concept were having its day.

Now comes a rich country scene where

Purpling grapes hang heavy and fine

Along endless terraces, superb on the vine.

And here our small country road

Merges with one wide and smooth,

And the traveller turns toward his place of abode.

But behold another blue gem of a lake lies near at hand.

From its shores to horizon spread, in unbroken expanse,

A riot of oaks, hickories, ash, maples and cherry,

All dazzling there in myriad hues,

Exquisite art no pen can describe.

All too soon sharp frost’s ravages will rudely intrude

But ‘twill never dispel the Great Artist’s magic of fall’s interlude.

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