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
Anyone have any other September poetry/prose/art/pictures to share? Maybe we'll do this every month!