Harvest

Harvest, by Mary Stebbins Taitt. I suppose this is the quintessential cliche of autumn, but I couldn't resist. In Mike Kline's Big Book. Polychromos pencils and graphite pencil.

{And let me tell you, the scan is terrible! I the barn is red, the sky is blue. (all those nice clicheed colors!) Oh well.}

I am leaving Thursday for 4-days at a poetry conference/retreat/workshop in Harbor Springs, MI.