A bushel full of my eye. In fields of autumn and the cornstalks. With the shadow of the cider mill and the glowing meadows among the pumpkins. Giving inspiration as the wind's calliope dances. Seeking antiquity's faith and salivation. Based on Philosophy from nature's sewing basket. Whispering in my ear, the song of the cicadas with violins and folded wings. In pantomime of memories and old rubber tire swings.