A poem by J.F. Conant

He who loves an old house never loves in vain. How can an old house used to sun and rain, to lilac and to larkspur and an elm above-ever fail to answer the heart that gives it love?

Friday, September 23, 2011

Happy Fall, ya'll!!

Fall is officially here as of yesterday! I love this time of year. Sweater weather!  I love football and wood smoke. I love the changing leaves and putting the garden to bed for another year. I love the baking I returned to now the the temps have dropped enough to make turning on the oven bearable again. I love the corn mazes and pumpkin wagons. I love apple cider straight from the cider mill!  So many wonderful sights and smell and sounds! What do you like about autumn?


To Autumn

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-breat whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies
John Keats

3 comments:

Granny Annie said...

I love Autumn and I love this post. Is the picture you used a photograph or a painting? If it is a photograph, did you take it? If a painting, did you paint it?

Diane said...

Love your new header!!! I can see you've been busy working.

Ellen said...

What an awesome fall graphic. so colorful. luvin falls weather.
Hugs,
Ellen