And he is...
bare feet on Sunday,
loose leaf tea,
pressed & grounded
fresh fruit
home grown vegetables,
sweat on brows,
callused hands,
cross his legs at the knee,
analytical & detailed minded.
He is the warm hug,
I seek after a long week,
He's a hug I walk into.
Wisdom flies low to rest
on his shoulders,
used to carry
and lift the weight of his dreams,

Winters baby but adopted by autumn,
He is golden hues and colors of harvest,
He begins to reap the seed he has sown,
an Indian summer day to prepare for the harshest nights of winter.