nodding to the soft breeze

Almost done!

I'm having such fun entertaining myself, however.

Surely, you too are inspired?

Today's offering

A Fall Song

by Ellen Robena Field

Golden and red trees

Nod to the soft breeze,

As it whispers, "Winter is near;"

And the brown nuts fall

At the wind's loud call,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Good-by, sweet flowers!

Through bright Summer hours

You have filled our hearts with cheer

We shall miss you so, 

And yet you must go,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Now the days grow cold,

As the year grows old,

And the meadows are brown and sere; 

Brave robin redbreast 

Has gone from his nest,

For this is the Fall of the year.

I do softly pray

At the close of day,

That the little children, so dear,

May as purely grow

As the fleecy snow

That follows the Fall of the year.

the breezes taste of apple peel

I love that line.

A beautiful Monet fall harvest of sights 

for your day

{oh, to be in France!}

and the bright taste of fall's bounty

to your heart's table!

September, 

by John Updike

The breezes taste

Of apple peel.

The air is full

Of smells to feel-

Ripe fruit, old footballs,

Burning brush,

New books, erasers,

Chalk, and such.

The bee, his hive,

Well-honeyed hum,

And Mother cuts

Chrysanthemums.

Like plates washed clean

With suds, the days

Are polished with

A morning haze.

jump up to the table: Autumn Song!

and celebrate all around.

Autumn is a-coming!

Day three, 

a painting 

and a poem!

Ah, the harvest moon.

Hung so low and round.

Ah, the heavy-laden table,

made to gather round.

And yes, I am making my children glory in all this poetry

every day at breakfast.

September will be so fun

for them for me!

Autumn Song

by Katherine Mansfield

Now's the time when children's noses
All become as red as roses
And the colour of their faces
Makes me think of orchard places
Where the juicy apples grow,
And tomatoes in a row.

And to-day the hardened sinner
Never could be late for dinner,
But will jump up to the table
Just as soon as he is able,
Ask for three times hot roast mutton--
Oh! the shocking little glutton.

Come then, find your ball and racket,
Pop into your winter jacket,
With the lovely bear-skin lining.
While the sun is brightly shining,
Let us run and play together
And just love the autumn weather.

oh, September, fairest of the fair

Please do join me in my small festival 

of poetry

to welcome fall

with pomp and

something akin to circumstance.

September

By Helen Hunt Jackson

The golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.

The gentian’s bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun;

In dusty pods the milkweed

Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,

In every meadow nook;

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning

the grapes’ sweet odors rise;

At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer’s best of weather,

And autumn’s best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty

Which floods the earth and air

Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

‘Tis a thing which I remember;

To name it thrills me yet:

One day of one September

I never can forget.

august's waning is october's party

Reliably.  

It happens every single year.

August's end has me dreaming of sweaters, soup and falling leaves.

Crisp autumn days and schedules.  

Pumpkins and saturated red from the maple.

Glory.

It is such a sweet savor.  

Even as I adore each waning day of summertime, 

the clear fall skies of cornflower blue 

and crisp air blowing fresh

are calling.

Apples are ripening, 

beckoning sweet.

Fresh notebooks and newly sharpened pencils

lined up like soldiers awaiting marching orders.

Corduroy and jeans.

Woolens and tweeds.

And my feet keep tapping along to the strumming of the waltz in my head.

Can you hear it?  The party?

October’s Party
by George Cooper

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly “hands around.”

Oh, August,

your beauty is well beloved.

And fall's rushing arrival, is so dearly met as well.