September

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel -
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze."

John Updike

The haze lingered longer than the morning today. Torrential downpours now and then. But sometimes the light was just magical. This is the sweetcornfield at Rake that I've blipped before in all weathers. There's something about it that appeals.