• fall season,  leaves,  Plants,  seasons,  trees

    Song of Autumn

    Couple images taking on my walk yesterday afternoon
    …and a poem by Mary Oliver called Song of 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