Photo: An autumn tree near my home in Nelson
I got up one morning, and there it was, autumn, I mean, and trees in their new colours. The morning air was also fresh, the light was different and created melancholy in the air. In the sun, it’s a magical season, but there’s also the rain that’s going to come (for which farmers will be grateful), chilly mornings, the four seasons in twenty-four hours and the addition of merino, wool socks and the definite sense that time is passing.
- inspired by Emily Dickinson « Simple news »
Not so simple because autumn brings us the flowers of the trees. The bad thing is that this season is so ephemeral that winter insists on leaving them naked. No leaves, no flowers.
I liked your poem.
Thank you Macalder, very true, winter comes next, I try not to think about it 🙂
It’s better this way. Good week
autumn has its own story to narrate
How nicely put!
Thank you