Cornbread Girls & Pumpkin Soup

Cornbread girls teeter on the
colourful edge of life
moving, waif-like,
through a myriad of leaves,
a rainbow of death.

They brew apple cider,
stir pots full of pumpkin soup,
hang wreathes of herbs
and dance naked under
a cheddar moon,
a mulberry sky.

They coat themselves with leaves,
and breathe frost on browning grass,
and nestle in with the carrots,
the beets,
the squirrels and the bears.

As a child I followed them eagerly,
always two steps behind,
racing through their discarded robes,
catching gasps of their frosty-breath,
finding thyme and sage all braided together
breaking apart cornbread with my
five year old fingers,
under the last sliver of cheddar cheese.