I stepped out of the house the other morning onto a front walk peppered with leaves. “How can this be?” I wondered. Yes, we’ve had a cool snap, but it’s only September! Then, I remembered that everything has been about two weeks ahead this season, and was shocked to realize that while I appreciated the two extra weeks in the spring, I’m missing them now! I'm not ready for Fall!
I know this poem by Shakespeare isn’t about Fall, but I think about it every year when I see the maples changing color and dropping their leaves. (Sorry about the lack of photos this morning, but it's pouring buckets of rain.)
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth from the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed by that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
What is Fall like where you are? And, happy Spring to those of you “Down Under!”