He smelled like a fall evening –
                      the distinct mix of dusty leaves, hay, and candy apples
                                          combined with pumpkins and acorns.
So I let him take my hand, his fingers weaving in between mine,
                  the way the October stars gently twisted through the sky.
                                            And we stood and looked up.
For the longest time, there was silence save for the sound of
                  a seventy-year old’s clapping shoes as she strolled across the
                            dance floor, on her way to do-si-do with her husband.
Appalachian hills gleamed under the harvest moon, as he smiled,
                      asked if I would like to run through the corn maze with him.
I said yes, of course I would, and would he be able to keep up with
                     the six-year old sprinters who would beat us to the finish?
He laughed, and the clouds overhead dispersed, revealing only velvet atmosphere.
                                   We ran for minutes, tripping over our
shoelaces, occasionally being startled by the tractor toting happy families
                                        who were on hayrides together. But we made it
To the finish, where we collapsed on the cool dirt, grasping our sides and
                                         laughing as loud as we could.