Week F – Fall Favourites

 

 

60H

I love autumn. For me it’s the most sensual of seasons. In part, the winding down and drawing in gives cause for pondering. But also, it’s the season of so many of my favourite things.

Bright copper kettles… warm woollen mittens… crisp apple strudels, yes. But it doesn’t end there, Maria.

Putting on a winter coat for the first time to brace the increasingly crisp mornings is a marked occasion. Feeling snug inside, I sweep my boots through the first of fallen leaves in the most mature manner I can assume. The evenings draw in, increasingly sleepy day by day, approaching the inexplicable excitement that is the changing of clocks… Spring forward, fall back.

Then the smell of bonfires! pervading the air for a week or more. And more importantly, the smells of feasts and food. Autumn simply means comfort. It means pyjamas by seven, guilty fire-lighting, hot chocolates and puddings.

But suddenly it’s all over. Subdued leaves rest silently on the ground; autumn style gives way to a ridiculous number of winter layers; and daylight is only witnessed at weekends.

During spring, nature gradually blooms around us. All of a sudden, everyone’s arrived and it’s time for summer celebrations. During autumn, nature shies away. If we don’t stop and smell the roses admire the leaves while they last, there’s little left to savour. Of course winter is a beauty in its own right, but it’s a stark, cold one.

Here, poetry makes its debut into my blog, but what better to ignite the senses? This poem captures my feeling towards autumn: it is a fleeting brilliance, the leaves fall too fast, and the darkening days feel too brief. Frost asks only for more time to appreciate the season before the wild wind lays all the beauty to waste.

 

October – by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

 

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