Tuesday, October 15, 2019

Shine On Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon brightened up the night sky as soon as the sun set.
For several days before and after the full moon, the moon hangs in the sky like a great, glowing lantern and prolongs the light far after sunset. It rises about the time the sun sets, but more importantly, at this time of year, instead of rising at its normal average of 40 minutes later each day, the moon seems to rise at nearly the same time each night.
This results in an abundance of bright moonlight early in the evening, which was a traditional aide to farmers and crews harvesting their summer-grown crops. Hence, the name “Harvest” Moon!
Simply magical !


It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Sunday, October 13, 2019

Nesting

Last night was our first cold night of the season.
The house stayed toasty warm, without turning the heat on, and today we will warm back up to a very pleasant seventy degrees.
The cats have been running around having a crazy half-hour, the cooler weather has made them frisky as newborn lambs.
Frequent naps are a must.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

Friday, October 11, 2019

Serenity

View of the local dam in my hometown. Autumn in England.
 
 
 
 
 
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,--
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
 
William Shakespeare "King Richard II", Act 2 scene 1 
 
 

Thursday, October 10, 2019

Holding On

The arbor- trellis roses are still blooming their little hearts out.
Perfect sunny days, and mist-laden, cool nights, affording them once last chance at a flush of beauty, before the first frost appears.









'Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
From Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit,
This bleak world alone?


The Last Rose of Summer:  Thomas Moore 1805
 

Monday, October 7, 2019

Misty Autumn Morn




 
I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;—
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.  

~ Thomas Hood : Autumn (1798-1845
 
 

Saturday, October 5, 2019

Rain-Less

The lack of rain in our fair city is causing the pastures to turn yellow.
The trees are stressed beyond measure, and I fear there will be a lot of replanting taking place in the early spring.
Burn bans have been issued across the state, but a careless cigarette tossed from a car window, can ignite a field fire and destroy hundreds of acres, in the process.




 
 
There is a stillness in the air, a slowing-down of sorts.
Nights are closing in fast, and darkness falls before the clock strikes seven.
Candlelight glows.
 
 

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

October

There are subtle changes in the air, trees are slowly changing to their Autumn palette.
Nights are cool and crisp.
Songbirds now departed for their winter homes.
Squirrels are busily gathering their winter stash.
Autumn days.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Monday, September 30, 2019

Indian Summer

Summer Days have not yet took their leave.
Ninety eight degrees predicted for today, far too hot to get excited about Fall decorating.
The closest I've come, is adding a  few pieces here and there.  Our rainfall has been little to none for an entire month, many of the trees have already shed their brown leaves.
The air conditioner continues to hum....


 




An early American writer described Indian Summer well when he wrote, "The air is perfectly quiescent and all is stillness, as if Nature, after her exertions during the Summer, were now at rest."
      ~ John Bradbury 1817

Thursday, September 26, 2019

Ode To Autumn

There is a subtle change in the air.
Cool mist-filled mornings, and daytime temperatures are seasonably pleasant.
Trees are slowly changing from greens to oranges and browns,  Autumn has unmistakably
arrived.

 
 
 
 
 



 
"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."

~ John Keats

Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Morning Wake-Up

How loud does your alarm clock MEOW ?
 
 

Sunday, September 22, 2019

Goodbye Sweet Summer


 " When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away. "
 
~Sarah Helen Power Whitman