These first few days of Autumn, a little decorating, a little gardening, a little relaxing
The smell of wood-smoke fills the night air.
Tales of a British expat, transplanted into the lush Tennessee countryside. Lover of old, time-worn, and antique. Tea-drinker, flower-grower, animal-nurturer.
These first few days of Autumn, a little decorating, a little gardening, a little relaxing
The smell of wood-smoke fills the night air.
The Morning Glories have made an appearance.
This Grandpa Ott variety, returns year after year, without any help from the gardener." September days have the warmth of summer in their briefer hours,
But in their lengthening evenings a prophetic breath of autumn.
The cricket chirps in the noontide, making the most of what remains of his brief life.
The bumblebee is busy among the clover blossoms of the aftermath,
And their shrill and dreamy hum hold the outdoor world above the voices of the song birds,
Now silent or departed."-
August days are waning.
" The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. "
