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Neosho Daily News - Neosho, MO
  • KAY HIVELY: Fall: My favorite time of the year

  • It’s been a pretty hectic fall and I hope things will calm down soon. With so many of my special groups having events, it has kept me busy. But I must admit that each of them has been a joy and I wouldn’t trade the time I spend with them. If you don’t volunteer for some group or some church or some cause, you don’t know what you are missing.
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  • It’s been a pretty hectic fall and I hope things will calm down soon. With so many of my special groups having events, it has kept me busy. But I must admit that each of them has been a joy and I wouldn’t trade the time I spend with them. If you don’t volunteer for some group or some church or some cause, you don’t know what you are missing.
    On top of all that, my baseball world has had more than its share of heartaches. The Yankees have struggled in almost every way. The most popular Yankee, Derrick Jeter had a tragic ending to the season. The Yankees, once called the Bronx Bombers, have let their bats go silent for the most part. But, as most fans do for their favorite team in every sport, I will stand with them even if I must stand in the rain and snow as well as in sunshine. As the Cubs are known for saying “There’s always next year.”
    I hope I find some time to enjoy the rest of my favorite season — fall. If everything falls into place I will have a short getaway to Florida. Maybe a few days watching the tide ebb and fall will be good. I can already hear the roar of the waves, taste the salty air and hear the seagulls. Imagine, a week with no calendar to keep!
    Then it’s back to Neosho and to the fall routine. I haven’t run my favorite fall poem so maybe it’s time.
    Something Told the Wild Geese
    By Rachel Field
    Something told the wild geese
    It was time to go,
    Though the fields lay golden
    Something whispered, “snow.”
     
    Leaves were green and stirring,
    Berries, luster-glossed,
    But beneath warm feathers
    Something cautioned, “frost.”
     
    All the sagging orchards
    Steamed with amber spice,
    But each wild breast stiffened
    At remembered ice.
    Something told the wild geese
    It was time to fly.
    Summer sun was on their wings
    Winter in their cry!
    Kay Hively writes a weekly column for the Daily News.
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