Autumn

Late autumn's stark beauty

~Photography courtesy of Claire Wheeler~

To Catch A Leaf

When you are a college student, and the pace of the semester is speeding up toward finals week, sometimes you have to stop and have a serious game of Catch The Falling Leaf with your youngest brother.

 

 It doesn't take long, AND it gets you running and laughing and soaking up some fresh air instead of bending over the ol' desk.

This season has seen the addition of a defensive game, including (but not limited to) shoving the Catching Competitor out of the path of the falling leaf, or going directly for the leaf and slapping it out of the way.  No tackle, but every year the rules are new and improved.  We'll see what the 2011 season brings.

It was a win for the big brother this time. A hard-fought, joyous victory!

William Blake (1757 - 1827)

To Autumn

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

November

"The season of colds, which ran all the way through to the end of February, started in November, when the magical, golden enchantment of autumn days (the wine of the seasons, when the year held its breath at the approach of frost and fire) turned into the raw damp of the backend of the year, clogging leaves packed underfoot and chilling fog pervading everything. If I had to draw a picture of November, I think I would draw an old man in a grey macintosh, blowing his nose. Even the smoky delights of fireworks and baked potatoes on bonfire night do no more than hold off the depression of those creeping fingers of darkness and cold."

The Hawk and the Dove by Penelope Wilcock

For two people who absolutely LOVE November, this is a strange quote to choose as a favorite. I think it is the "wine of the seasons" comment that charms me. My daughter says that Wilcock is describing November so vividly, and that we love those qualities that she finds depressing. Of course, we live in Northern California, and this book is based in wet, cold England. We spend the broiling months of July and August dreaming of the "creeping fingers of darkness and cold." Every autumn I breathe a sigh of relief and contentment.

A repost from 2007.

November Night

Listen.
With faint dry sound,
Likes steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

~ Adelaide Crapsey