In small hill folds,

whistling melodies of wind

and farmer

nestles a timid pumpkin seed in the helm

spouting fast a giant fruit in explosive joy

anchored paths and rooted kindness

for all the bowls of piping hot pumpkin risotto

into the mouths of worried mothers, excited fathers,

traveling grandmothers, withering grandfathers

and our giggling babies

by a fireplace somewhere —

satiated and safe,

now and forever more