Little Pumpkin

Her brown hair twisted in the wind like the stems of the pumpkins she picked out

Her little hands curiously traced the ridges and bumps of the orange fruits

As she attempted to lift one bigger than her head

her laugh never faded like the clouds in the sky had.

When she drank the hot cocoa we bought from the market

her cheeks turned a ripe apple red.

The thick brim of the wool hat sitting snug on her head

struggled to cover her eyes

but I still saw them peek up at me

as she asked me to hold her hand