The corn had been stripped of blades and ears so that there
was nothing left but row after row of shriveled stalks leaning
against each other, waiting to fall to the ground. The goldenrod
in the fence corners, so lovely in September, was dried up, dead.
But the persimmon bushes and the young sassafras trees looked
quite lively as their half-green, half-red leaves shimmered in
the late afternoon sun.
"Their leaves will stay just that bright till killing frost
comes," Aunt Vic told me. "And I think they're just beautiful!"
I looked at the leaves again. They were pretty.
"You know, Bandershanks, you can enjoy different things if
you keep your eyes open. But if you don't open up your eyes, you
miss half of everything along the way."
"How do you miss them?"
"You just won't see what's right in front of you, if you
don't look! What you look at has a lot to do with the way you
feel and think. And what you think about is very important,
Bandershanks. You see this tall grass and broom sedge all along
here between the road and Old Man Hawk's rail fence?"
"Yes'm.
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