As the autumn foliage reaches its peak in parts of the United States, we present this timely Poetry Pairing. It features "Raking Near the Great Works," a poem by Megan Grumbling, and the article "Pedal Peepers in Vermont" by Katie Zezima. Megan Grumbling won the Robert Frost Award in 2004. Frost and Grumbling share a fondness for New England - "Raking Near the Great Works" and Grumbling's other poems in the January 2006 issue of Poetry come from Grumbling's collection "Booker's Point," which centers on the life of "quintessential Maine codger." Grumbling lives in Portland, Me. Raking Near the Great Works By Megan Grumbling October, and the leaves turned late but strong. Rock maples and the reds, clear brazen, blaze long-burning feats of sugar through our ways. Their strident hold upon the back roads pulls our morning drive, out to where Oak Woods Road crosses the river that they call Great Works. The nearby fields so rich it's hard to breathe - the hay treacly with auburn, grasses bronzed - we stop before a red farmhouse, just shy of where the river runs, where maple trees have laid the front lawns ravished with their loss. From Booker's truck we pull out sacks and tools, proceed to gather up the autumn's spoils. He holds each big bag open, and I rake the broad red leaves together and inside. The crop is so much greater than our work could ever capture, even as we press it in, right close, to fill October's urge, but we have cleared a windfall just the same: A clarity, the season's morning hues, and our sweet chore have worked an art of fall. As autumn and the Great Works trickle by, we skim as much brimmed crimson as these few stout bags will hold within, enough to lay four inches of the fall upon his fields. October's task has raked the colors high. To turn "em in, the soil to bed with yield, is just as good as planting winter rye. In "Pedal Peepers in Vermont," Katie Zezima writes about another way to experience a New England autumn - bicycling while the changing leaves are in their full splendor. Dew still glittered on the grass, and the sun started to burn through the morning clouds, warming the chilly air. I headed toward Middlebury College, trying to keep a brisk pace. Along the hushed roads were acres of dairy farms, the cows huddled together for warmth, far outnumbering the people. Orchards nurtured trees filled with plump red apples. This, I thought, was why people came to Vermont in the fall. The burning reds, fiery oranges and golden yellows were breathtaking no matter how you looked at them. But the landscape took on a whole new magnitude when you ditched the automobile, put on some layers and went leaf-peeping on two wheels. That's how I, with 15 other riders, spent a sunny October weekend last year, pedaling up and down the rolling green hills of Addison County, a hub of Vermont's dairy industry. Having grown up in Connecticut and now as a reporter in New England, I've leaf-peeped my whole life. But seeing the foliage by bike was more visceral - the gust of cool air in your face, the crunch of riding over acorns, the silence punctuated by the shifting of gears, the feel of a bright red leaf. The entire experience felt closer to nature. I melted into the landscape instead of blowing by it at 60 miles an hour. "Raking Near the Great Works" appeared in the January 2006 issue of Poetry.