Growing up in rural Georgia,
there were always cotton fields.
We lived only a mile from town,
but there was a large cotton field behind our house.
We played in those fields, making a path
from our house to the neighbors.
Close to Thanksgiving, the cotton balls
were almost ready for pickin' and
the field behind our house,
looked as if it was covered in snow.
Mama said in her day that the cotton balls
had to get rotten before pickin'.
She loved cotton-pickin'.
I prefer already-picked cotton.
Like what you see in the galvanized bucket.
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic as the Holidays approach.
Missing my parents and home just a little bit.
Hope to touch base before Thanksgiving.
If not, Happy Thanksgiving.