The long, 

Tan tall field of grass glows bright orange with large and small pumpkins. 

The cool breeze blows through the field making me shiver with a bone-chilling sense. 

For miles,

For what deemed forever, 

The pumpkins flow through the hills, 

Rolling and patiently waiting to be picked. 

The autumn leaves fly through the air, 

A squirrel gathering the last of the acorns before 

an unforgiving winter, 

geese flying south, “honk,honk,honk!” 

in their perfect uniform V formation. 

 Autumn is my favorite time of year, 

so when I see pumpkins and the bright colors of the changing leaves, 

It leaves me feeling thankful and cozy for the harvest season.

I curl up under a blanket with some hot chocolate and a good book, 

next to a fire in my white-bricked fireplace, 

with an orange and red wreath hung on top. 

A simple well-rounded,

deep sunset orange, 

with indents of a pumpkin is anything but the lesser. 

Picking the perfect pumpkin is essential for carving,

not too bumpy or disfigured.

The long, tan tall grass field that glows bright orange with other large and small pumpkins.