Just because.

It’s undoubtedly Autumn now. The days are short and my heating’s on, but I like it. Of all the seasons this one is my favourite, it always has been. Autumn is simple and elegant, the colours can be vibrant and the wind gives everyone a healthy glow. I like my fluffy jumpers/pyjamas/socks and they all come out at this time of year. I’m not writing much today, instead I intend to share a much loved poem of mine –

       To Autumn

  Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
        Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless
        With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
        And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
            To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
        And still more, later flowers for the bees,
        Until they think warm days will never cease,
            For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

  Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
        Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
        Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
        Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
            Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
        Steady thy laden head across a brook;
        Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
            Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

   Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
        Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
        And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
        Among the river sallows, borne aloft
            Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
        Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
        The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
           And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

                                                                     John Keats (1795-1821)

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~ by Laura on October 19, 2007.

2 Responses to “Just because.”

  1. Hi Laura. People think I’m strange brcause I also LOVE the Autumn, the last three mornings have started with a fantastic frost and in the sunlight all the grasses and trees were sparklin like they were fastooned with millions of tiny diamonds just breathtaking—you feel so alive on days like that.

  2. me too, it’s so colourful and everyone looks like gnomes with their little red cheeks 🙂

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