I love the smell of fall. The mixture of cool rains and the scent of the leaves are something I look forward to every year. It is when I begin to smell the burning of wood in fireplaces. I wonder who is reading a book, enjoying a beverage, or just curling up in front of the warmth of the fire. I like the nip in the air. It makes the air feel so clean. I think it is time to get out my favorite blankie and curl up to enjoy the cool air coming in my window. Yes, a window open a bit at night, with cool air streaming in, is the best sleep there is (it would be even better if it was raining).No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face;
—John Donne
As I have seen in one autumnal face;
—John Donne
There is music in the meadows, in the air–
Autumn is here; Skies are gray, but hearts are mellow,
—William Stanley Braithwaite
Ode to Autumn
by John Keats
by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
6 comments:
fall rocks, except for the raking.
Now that Keats poem is one that really did stick in my brain, all down to my English teacher (in what you call High School) - was a time when I could recite it from memory but most of it has gone now (replaced by IT “stuff”).
I do enjoy the colours of Autumn, remember a bus ride from Jasper to Banff in Alberta one late September passing though endless swathes of evergreen forest all dark green.
The bus rounds a corner and suddenly in the middle of the dark green there is a small stand of trees which are a mixture of red, orange and yellow - took my breath away.
I also love Autumn, all of it, even the raking. Anything to get outdoors. I love sitting outside before anyone else is up, and sipping my coffee in the quiet rustling of the leaves. I love the first morning that you have to put on a sweatshirt because it is cool outside. We don't have a fireplace, but our next door neighbor does, so we get the nice aroma without the hassle. (confidentally - ha - I bought a fireplace video years back to put in the VCR, so I could have the 'fireplace' sounds and visual during the holidays. I still put it on, even tho it's tacky.) The kids just roll their eyes.
Vinnie:
I actually used to volunteer our yard when I was young. I loved it! We had a huge yard and I used to try to see how high I could make the pile of leaves.
DBA:
I don't make my students memorize lines of poetry and Shakespeare. Some teachers still do, but if there is a line of prose or poetry that strikes a person's fancy, that person will remember it, because it meant something or created a reaction in that person. I'm happy I can get them to read.
I'm thinking of taking a day trip soon north of here so that I can see some mountains and miles of trees. I have a couple really nice digital cameras just collecting dust. I need to use them.
I'd like to go to the town in Canada where my grandmom was raised after her family went there from Scotland. (Fernie, B.C.)
Mrs. G:
I live in an apartment, but if the wind is in our direction, I can smell the wood burning from the houses across the highway from us. I love that smell.
Oh, and the videotape? Corny, BUT...that's why we get to be adults now. We can do what we want and tell the world to suck it. Right? :)
RT - well put.
Thank you. :)
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