The colours of fall

I find it difficult to write anything that these images do not say better themselves.

Come enjoy the beauty of fall on the meadow. 

 

 

 

 

 

Song for Autumn

In the deep fall
    don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
    the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
    freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
    warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
    inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
    the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
    vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
    its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
    the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Mary Oliver
New and Selected Poems: Volume Two

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October on the meadow

 Invigorating, crisp October mornings that sparkle.

"The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly
changes from summer cottons into its winter wools."
-   Henry Beston, Northern Farm

 Bright sunny Afternoons. 

Smiling comes easy and laughter too like leaves falling.

 

September frost

 A beautiful frosty September morning on the meadow.

 A refreshing and exhilarating time of year!

 "Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." - Albert Camus

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice can speak. - See more at: http://peopleforothers.loyolapress.com/2010/09/more-mary-oliver/#sthash.qocQOZLD.dpuf

 Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Thirst)

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice can speak. - See more at: http://peopleforothers.loyolapress.com/2010/09/more-mary-oliver/#sthash.qocQOZLD.dpuf