Autumn fulfills, with redolence
of scent that promises new birth someday;
Each breath is crisp, and all is fulfilled -- the year has given us all we need. Eat and be nourished from what we have saved.
Summer is gone; her fruits fill us up. We fiddle for now, for life is a dance.
Winter is filled with its own romance.
Life falls to slumber, in cold dissonance. We wait, and we wonder, in hope that one day
the new day we wait for is brilliant and gay,
For each day we hunger for, day after day, is only a hope of a hitch on the post of another good day. And good days are precious, in winter, we know.
When Spring comes, Spring sings.
Spring is all possibilities. Spring is daffodils, demanding their consciousness. Well, daffodils have their own say to say. And what they have to say is, We are spring.
What other plant dares to push up out of the cold ground than these?
And to be so beautiful?
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2 comments:
Hey Eowyn: This is lovely. Especially this part:
"Summer is gone; her fruits fill us up. We fiddle for now, for life is a dance.
Winter is filled with its own romance. Life falls to slumber, in cold dissonance."
I love the fading of Summer into Autumn. Still cheery but there's rain and plant scents and crisp air. It's great and I can dress how I want...usually a rain barrel and two-tone Florsheims, but that's just me. Thanks for the kind words.
All the best kid. Love from Colonel Neville.
My very dear Colonel, thank you so much for the praise. I confess I'll never reach poetic genius, having too much fondness for iambic pentameter; but I do like to dash off thoughts once in a while :)
Ha ha! (Picturing my favorite officer in a rain barrel and two-tone Florsheims! How lovely it is that, while you Always Dress For Dinner, you're not a slave to fashion *grin*)
Yes, there's something magical about late summer which, if you ask me, is its own season, separate and apart from all others (with the possible exception of late winter). It's a golden time.
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