This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1" Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3" The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5" From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7" September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9" Apples "10"
Rain "11" Pumpkins "12"
Halloween "13" Big City "14"
Remembrance Day "15" Autumn Harvest "16"
17 18
19 20


Your Title

By Your Name (

Autumn Harvest. In autumn we harvest the fruits of our labours and enjoy the rich bounty. It's the season when we tend to slow down. It's also a time when we tend to reflect and give thanks for our good fortunes.

As a child, I remember that Thanksgiving Day was often butchering day. My grandparents would come and so would some of our neighbors come to help out. The kitchen was full of women who helped to make and fry sausage, to render pork rinds, to salt down the hams. Supper was always a feast and pork tenderloin was my favorite dish.

Do you have family memories, or autumn harvest memories, or Thanksgiving Day memories you'd like to share? Take a few minutes and compose a poem, or jot down something from your past. A poem, a story, or recollections would be interesting to us. Fiction or fact, we look forward to your entry.

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Autumn Harvest

By susi Taylor (

Holidays! What images that conjures up
Of food laden tables and always filled cup
Friends and family gathered all 'round
Music, laughter and joy abound!

Thanksgiving comes first, what a wonderful time!
With its groaning board and scents divine
Thanks first to God for providing such fare
Then thanks to the host for inviting us there

The turkey is carved and dinner's begun
Oh, so much good food brought by everyone!
Mashed potatoes, gravy, dressing and corn
Relish trays, cheeses, and rolls, oven-warm

Cranberry relish and candied sweet potatoes
Sliced cukes, peppers and bright red tomatoes
There are apple, cherry and pumpkin pies
Oh, what a feast for everyone's eyes!

After dinner, after eating so much that we hurt
We sit, and we pick 'til time for dessert
The guys are watching the football game
No one wants to do dishes, now ain't that a shame?

But, the dishes get done and the guys are sleeping
Football forgotten, no scores are they keeping
The day has been a most glorious success
So now everyone go home and let me clean up this mess!



Did You Say Please?

By Swampetta (

How nice of us to say Thank You!
And devote a whole day to it too.
A huge roasted Turkey, bushels of peas.
Puddings and cakes....But did you say 'Please'?

"Oh Lord we thank you for this harvest."
But didn't save a seat for the uninvited guest.
"We thank you for the traditions of old."
Could you save a sandwich for the poor and the old?

Today is for families, but they break apart.
But some are alone with a broken heart.
Don't count on the Lord to give them some ease,
That's why you're here....Don't forget to say "Please".



Autumn Harvest

By Sharon (

A drafty ancient farm house stands
Time for rest in an afternoon
Little sister reading a book
The old lame dog hunting raccoon

Papa stopped work to eat his lunch
Brother Dan fishing at the pond
Taking time to enjoy the fine day
Ma calls out he doesn't respond

Birds flying up high overhead
Squirrels scrambling up an oak tree
Perfect day for a good harvest
It feels so great to be so free



Circle of Life

By Joy (

Wisps of smoky clouds move slowly
Across the vista of pale blue sky

The distant ridges of blue/black mountains
Rise in majesty in the distance

Pines of dark green stand stately
Between the trees of red and yellow

As dried brown leaves blow across the highway
Swirling on the draughts of air from the passing cars

An eagle soars on the currents between ridges
Suddenly plunging into the ravine, out of sight

Piles of wildly colored leaves
Fill the culverts along the median

Herds of cows dot the hills
Confined by ancient walls of piled stone

Squash and pumpkins stand like sentinels
Waiting for their great Thanksgiving appearance

Corn shocks stacked like tired old men
Past the time of their usefulness

The dark brown of decay is creeping forward
To bring the color show to an end

Soon pristine snow will cover the scene
Incubating the shoots under the ground

And the circle of life begins again....



Harvest of Blessings

By Mary (

Pumpkins are ripened
leaves changing their hue . . .
crisp breezes are whispering
"The harvest~moon is in view" ~

Season of Autumn
with bold colors display'd . . .
bringing answers from Father
for prayers we have prayed ~

Wonders of Nature
bedecking this earth . . .
responding to Father's touch
rejoice with great mirth ~

Look there, leaves clapping
to show their delight . . .
the geese in formation
take the skies in their flight ~

Sing glorious anthems
forests & mountains so grand . . .
harmonizing with our hearts
thanking God for this land ~

Rippling in majesty
each brook, fjord & stream . . .
serenading sweet Creator
as brave eagles scream ~

Revealing the Song
Nature's voices do sing . . .
death in Autumn's beauty
and RESURRECTION in Spring ~

Season of Reflection
of Father's endless caressings . . .
to just thank & praise HIM



My Old Home, A Picture

By Tom (

All my life I had doodled and tried to draw. I thought I could become an artistic, a landscape artist but kismet was not on my side for people like me were destined to be the grunts and doers for the upper folk. Yep, no art school for me as I went from high school to basic training, to combat training and half way around the world to Viet Nam as a one striper in a rifle platoon.

By the time I had been there nine months I had been wounded four times, been promoted to SFC and put in charge of making sure those yaw hoos who got shipped over could fire a rifle. Shucks I liked the job and I was not in much danger there on the rifle and pistol range except for those dang idjuts who had never shot a gun in their life until they were drafted into the Army. I did my job and since I had a goal in life of trying to be an artist I decided to extend my tour. Three months shy of three years later I was shipped back to the state as a Master Sergeant. I had a good bank account and was planning on getting out when a shave tail Lieutenant who had been my first platoon commander showed up with a gold leaf on his cap. “Msgt Fracas, you did wonders for me so now I talked to the Brigade commander and you are now my Sgt Major and we are going to train these troops to do some good when we get back over there.”

My heart sank down into my boots as there went my discharge and art school. Six months later my shave tail who was now a Lt Colonel and me a Sgt Major were back in country. Six weeks later my young Lt Colonel was dead and I had two more purple hearts. Then I was a Captain for three months as we went into Laos and a Major when we came out. When I got back to Saigon the General saw me and personally drove me to the hospital. The war was over for me as I could not raise my left arm to scratch my ear and my right leg was crooked from a mortar round. I was given a hand full of medals, promoted to that silver leaf rank, shipped home and medically retired. One hundred percent disability which meant I got my base pay tax free.

I had all of my savings, the GI Bill so I went home and went to the University to study art. Seven years later I graduated and this picture was my submittal. I titled it my old home and that is how this small not too well drawn picture was painted. I went back home and took over my dad’s business, hired a good manager so now if you come into town and see a short fat feller with a gimpy right leg and a twisted left arm carrying a sketch pad; say hello, it is I. I ain’t much of an artist but I do what I always dreamed of doing and that is to draw what I want to try and draw. My wounds make it hard for me to perambulate and it is getting worse each year, but I am enjoying my life, but I will admit I paid one hell of a price to get to this point.



Autumn Harvest

By Tom (

The crops are in, the leaves are brown,
This old back is so tired.
The grain in the silo is
as the corn still has to be shucked.

The pumpkin patch is no more
as Halloween and Thanksgiving pies
have taken them all,
now the turkey must be had.

Apples, bushels of them
are in the root cellar
where it is cool,
while taters are in the sacks.

Molasses were made last month
and apple butter be next week.
Soon it will be butchering time
frost is getting thick on the bucket.

Things have slowed down
as the leaves have all fallen.
Fall is nearly gone,
soon old man winter, will bring a storm.



Autumn Harvest

By Amy (

falling leaves come late here
november or december, is that clear
roasted turkey, stuffing too
how i love the smells i do.

thanksgiving time invite friends and foe
light the candles, let them glow
eat the meat, taters too
pull on the wishbone, wishes come true



Autumn Harvest

By Brier (







Life's Autumn

By Norma (

As in a dream an angel shines
On pieces of heaven drifting
In the mind of times of
A life’s savored memories.

The mists of falls gone by
Of schoolbooks, woods,
And dancing leaves
You and I under old oak trees.

Do you remember that weathered place
We played house, enjoying china teas?
We, so refined, so elegant
In an old Indian summer.

Now as I warm my tired old feet,
Close my eyes, turn to yesteryear,
And meet you in my dreameries,
In life's autumn, I am I am content.




By Evelyn (

AUTUMN and HARVEST are two of the richest words in our vocabulary. Each evokes images of awe-inspiring tapestries woven in reds, golds, yellows, bronzes with a showing of green not yet relented to Autumn. These two words remind me that orchards, vineyards and cornfields have yielded their bounty and that meadows have yielded their grasses to the scythe and mower. Cider has long been pressed and beehives are filled to bursting. By Indian Summer, before the first hard freeze, the barn is filled with hay and the cellar with food for the winter ahead.

The money crops on our farm were strawberries, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes and cotton. From the barnyard, we sold eggs to the hatchery. I learned very early to cull sweet potatoes and Irish potatoes, saving the best for sale, the smallest for ourselves. In strawberry picking time, we reserved the choicest ones for the top! Sometimes I would get up early and get in an hour or so before hurrying off for the two and one half mile walk to school. Then hurrying home as fast as I could, I worked in the fields until dark during harvest time.

Working the harvest for some meant skipping school. My brother and sisters weren't allowed to miss school. That changed during WWII when we had permission to skip a few days to help with harvest related work on the farm, and to help the surrounding neighbors. All able bodied young men were in some branch of the armed forces in those dark years between 1943 and 1945. Students were conscripted as labor to harvest cotton and potatoes.

After the first hard freeze, you'd think that we could rest, but no, it was then butchering time on the farm, an integral part of the Autumn harvest. The whole place was turned into a meat factory. In the back yard cauldrons of water were heated to boiling early in the morning. Block and tackles were in place, hanging from the limbs of the old oak trees. It was annual event. Neighbors came to help.

The whole process lasted the better part of the week. Hams were rubbed in salt and brown sugar for curing. Lard was rendered. The family feasted on pork chops and tenderloin before most of it went into the making of sausage. By the end of the week rings of sausage were hanging in the old smoke house smothering in hickory smoke. Mama always saved out enough of the fat to make “pork cake” which took the place of fruit cake at Christmas.

The farm on which I was raised was quite “labor intensive.” Harvesting meant picking, mowing, field-drying. We didn’t waste anything. Intensive farming techniques have replaced the plough and the sickle that date back to prehistoric agriculture. However, when I walk Memory Lane, I can identify with the plough, the mule and the sickle. Pushing my grocery cart down the aisle in the supermarket it is easy for me to forget that a poor harvest could mean a harsh winter. My parents were good managers and our larder was always full. However, Mama would tell of near starvation for my forebears in the “old country.”

The word “harvest” resonates through my very soul when paired with “Autumn.” Both are heavy with heartfelt meaning for me Whoever said that “you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl” could have been talking about me! I am fortunate that in a close by neighboring county I can enjoy the vicarious thrill of “fruits of the vine and of the soil.” It is a joy is to visit and take part in the Amish Produce Auction in Mount Hope, Ohio from April to November. In these seven months it is possible to visibly see the spectrum of “fruit of the vine and work of human hands” as the farmers bring their produce to market. For me, it is a blessing that I can experience the harvest without the labor intensive work that went into the produce that I take home from there. When I come home with my produce, sometimes flowers, I marvel at the bounty with which I am blessed and I am filled with gratitude for all of my blessings.

Cornucopia, horn of plenty, that is Autumn, laden with fruits of the orchards, the vineyards, and the earth. There is nothing dainty about autumn and the harvest. There is a lustiness and an absolute rush to the finish line as we gather in the fruits of our labors. In years past when I stashed them aside for the winter months. there was an absolute adrenaline rush! As Thanksgiving Day approaches, in the words of John Bradbury (1817): “The air is perfectly quiescent and all is stillness, as if Nature, after her exertions during the Summer, are [were] now at rest.”




Watch this site for other Write to a Picture pages.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.

The New Thanksgiving


Golden Ringlets

Haiku: Fall Season

Haiku: Fall Season

Can You Remember?

Sarah And Eddie

Remembrance Day (11 authors)

Last Request

Blackie The Cat

Hello November

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