Returning from the County Fair, br We were chased home br By the recent risen moon br Large as a house and ocherous as a ripened gourd br And by a cold front charging over the edge of the Caprock, br Rushing autumn upon us. br As clouds arrived, rain smacked against the car like hail. br br Still dizzy from ferris wheel and roller-coaster rides br And ready to snuggle into cotton candy dreams, br At last we reached home br To find the wind had wrestled with our peach trees, br Making them loose their grip br On fistfuls of fruit. br Now littering the ground br Were the bruised fragrant orbs - br Some soft as mud, already making jam, br Some firm, partly green. br The velvety globes had to be gathered br In bushel baskets to arrest any further damage. br br Hours later collapsing from exhaustion, br We tumbled into pink dreams br Perfumed with sweat and peaches. br And in my sleep, I was plumped on piles br Of that fuzz plucked from the skins br Like down from goslings; br A dream suffused with light from that Harvest Moon.