Saturday, 24 September 2011

In Praise of Autumn

The Falling of the Leaves

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet-wild strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

W. B. Yeats

I love Autumn.  I love the beautiful rich russet and golden colours, and the scent of wood smoke and burning leaves filling the air.  The sound and feel of the fallen leaves crunching underfoot, before the rain turns them to sludge, is always a pleasure. Autumn has always filled me with a sense of longing; a yearning for something unknown, but at the same time deeply familiar. I love the dark nights and the stars, and the mist rolling in from the sea, and that hint of magic and witchery in the atmosphere of the night. I love the  fractured light from street lamps, reflecting off rain soaked roads, and cosy nights by a burning fire. Beautiful Autumn.


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