I began this poem years ago when my eldest son (now 23!) was much younger. I didn’t note the date on the typed copy I recently found, but I still distinctly remember him saying that the “world is a museum of leaves” as he surveyed the autumnal landscape. That phrase has stuck with me through the years as autumn is my favorite season. Returning to the poem tonight, I cut out many lines that felt forced or irrelevant and expanded the first stanza into a more complete stand-alone poem. As we head into Thanksgiving, I am reminded once again of the cornucopia of reasons I have to be grateful, and I am challenged to slow down and “savor every common gift that harvest hallows.”
Harvest Hallows
By Vincent H. Anastasi 2023
In autumn when the world's a museum of leaves and summer's masterpiece mellows to richer tones, when the blanket of night is pulled up to the neck of day and comfort comes in cups of steaming cider and campfire smoke, when the wholesome laughter of children's voices explodes from piles of leaves that cling to coats or fall in lazy undulations, I learn the sweet taste of gratitude and savor every common gift harvest hallows.
the deepening ground 
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