A growl

This summer’s harvest has come and gone

The fruits of my labors have been picked clean

The fall has begun and already

The places where juicy fruits once stood have been taken and eaten

Each bite of the delectable fruit

Of its own origination

Of its own color

Of its own flavor

Of its own texture

Of its own size

All different

Yet grew the same

I remember when I walked the garden and spoke to the heavens for bounty

For harvest to be plentiful and it yielded

A gratifying answer to my supplications

With which I have been fed well

Now the garden is naked and my belly is empty and echoes...

A growl