Autumn

Autumn

~Polly Ward~

Don't you love autumn

When the leaves come tumbling down,

Where they fall in billowy carpets

For the wind to toss around ?

The air feels cleaner, calmer,

As the sounds float o'er the hill. . .

Of the gathering of the harvest

As the barns and cellars fill.

It seem that in autumn

The aroma of burning leaves . . .

Just fill our heart with gladness

While we're bringing in the sheaves.

And the smell of spicy cooking

Of applebutter, jams an jell . . .

And all those pickles mother makes,

And preserves we love so well.

Autumn is : "the summer gone"

And "winter on the way,"

An all those cherry autumn shades

Can't help but make us gay.

I love the Indian summer

With its flaming painted sky . . .

Like an artist at his canvas,

With a thousand pots of dye.

It seems that in autumn

Nature folds her work for rest:

And gathers up her children. . .

And holds them to her breast.

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I am now back to my Autumn decorations since the fabric and trims on the hutch yesterday have been used. The morning sky is heavy with clouds, the fall time clouds... filled with grays and the palest of blues. Leaves on the oak trees are beginning to change their colors. The leaves that have turned, stick out from the slower ones. Fashion extraordinaire, among the plain.

Natures Decorations of Autumn, hang on the oak tree

The hutch. . . back to fall after a short jump ahead to Christmas yesterday

fading flowers

Slow ripening tomatoes hanging tight to the rosemary bush

The mornings gray sky