When They Ring Those Golden Bells Days fall away like apples from October tress cheeks, full and ablush, kissing silver from delicate wrists and fingertips, escaping trappings of gnarl and crook and the gripping sway of Autumnal breezes. Such thievery— the snatching of seconds from sun and flesh— to pave the way for the procession to Winter’s rest. Over rock and bramble, past crimson peeks of velvet through the briar, an orchard of yews awaits, boughs laden with evergreen and the opiate red of merciful Sleep....
