P. D. James said, "It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life."
I know I'm guilty of looking back on events through a romantic, rose colored haze. When I remember the autumn just passed, I will think about the crisp air, the gentle warmth of the sun, and incredible color everywhere. I will remember the last tomatoes and the first sweet apples, the pungent scent of leaf smoke and the impossible colors of an autumn sunrise. I will relive the cautious hopefulness I felt when we elected a new president, and enjoy the remaining days left to my much beloved old cat, Voodoo.
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
with the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; There thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my Fresh pipe;
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
~ William Blake
with the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; There thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my Fresh pipe;
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
~ William Blake
The Sussex lanes were very lovely in the autumn...spendthrift gold and glory of the year-end...earth scents and the sky winds and all the magic of the countryside which is ordained for the healing of the soul.
~ Monica Baldwin
Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?~ Hal Borland
I'm glad I prepared this post a few days ahead. My 'photography' computer is going into intensive care tomorrow. Not sure when I'll have it back.
