I love the autumn season!
It heralds so many wonderful things –
- The winter season (if you are a December baby like me and cannot bear the summer….you will know what I mean!)
- The festive season (Have you seen how most of the festivals all over the world, somehow tend to be around the Fall-Winter period?)
- Most importantly, it’s Vacation Time (Especially the December holidays!!!!)
- The creepy crawlies all hibernate
- My hair does not look plastered to my scalp (summers with humidity)
So really….what’s there not to love about this season?
I love the feeling of getting up in the morning and wrapping up with a light sweater and warming my hands around a hot cup of tea, as I smell the wood fire in the air and see beyond the hills (remember I live in an apartment cut off from the city, whose only saving grace is the view!) the rising morning mist! Compare this to getting up in Summer, where you are drenched in sweat and everything is sticky and you just want to laze because, all your energy has been sucked out by the unrelenting and unremitting heat! Yuck!! I am sure you get the picture!
This is the time to explore, to rekindle old forgotten passions and go out and greet the world! It is the season of beauty, charm and outdoors – time for picnics and excursions! It’s a time to close old chapters and plan for new beginnings. It’s a time for harvest and celebrations!
I know I am waxing eloquent, but since this is such a lovely time, that I can go on and on about it! But then I think, there is somebody who has already done this in far more beautiful terms than I can ever fathom…..so I will just let Mr Keats do the talking –
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-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed 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’erbrimmed 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-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed 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 cider-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 redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Do let me know what your favorites/plans for this season!