Fall in Love with Autumn
It's that time of year again. Wood smoke fills the air, and from the back of the closet the sweaters emerge. The crunch of leaves beneath your feet as you make your way through the forest makes a sort of rhythm that foreshadows the music of the upcoming Holiday season. You turn on Harry Potter and feel the anticipation when the twelve trees are pictured in the Great Hall with snow drifting down from the rafters. No, Not that last one? Oh well. You can't blame me for trying.
Personally, this is my favorite time of year.
You can make cookies, but you don't have to stress about the Thanksgiving meal. You can drink hot chocolate, but you don't have to rush through it to make it to the next choir performance or event. You can wear a jacket, but brisk walks aren't impeded by bulky snow suits. The air smells perfect and if it's too chilly outside, you just throw on a sweatshirt.
Can you tell that I love fall?
Well, seeing as its mid-November, I have noticed that my favorite season is starting to fade away into Winter. Not that I'm complaining - Bring on the snow, Michigan! - but I think that a tribute to the perfect season is in order.
In my English class, we have been doing an extensive unit on poetry, its a bit sappy for my liking, especially when most of it is of the love poetry type (Honestly, eighth graders just don't have the experience to "write an essay and convincing love poem on romance") but for Fall, the delicate language of poetry provides an excellent way to give the perfect season one final wave goodbye.
Dancing scarecrows, twirling breeze,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Autumn is a woman growing old,
Ready to let what is dead go,
Her youthful radiance has faded, and that's sad,
But underneath she discovers a
spread of colors she didn't know she had. Little children screech and run,
Ghosts and goblins having fun,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Around her a kaleidoscope of leaves are whirling.
Deep within her visions stir of new life that will be,
A budding, a flowering, a promise unfurling.
Autumn is a woman growing old,
Ready to let what is dead go. Calico kittens, rain falling rat-a-tat-tat,
Big full moon, funny black cats,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air!
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still,
And look and listen with a rapt delight,
Pausing again and yet again at will
To drink the elusive beauty of the night,
Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup,
That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.
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 in 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 with 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.
And my own fall poem;
blurs of gold
a blink of red,
the crunch of
foliage
fades underfoot.
The wind whispers
tales of flames
Of faeries and fauns,
and sweet pumpkin pie.
A breath of warmth,
a chilling breeze.
Above is a blue,
a rich, vast blue,
a dome for the
orange, green,
and brown.
The shouts of children,
the prance of the deer,
the trees dance,
the stream flows,
as fall grows ever near.
I had planned on adding more photos from this fall, but they won't upload. If I can figure out how to upload them, I will update this post. Otherwise, I'll let the words do the talking.
This weekend or early next week, I'm going to add a post on popular thanksgiving traditions, myths, and recipes, and the history thereof.
(see how I'm posting about upcoming posts to make me ACTUALY write the posts instead of just thinking about writing them?)
If you have a tradition or myth that you would like to see explored in my next post, please leave your suggestions in the comments. Also, I'd love to see your own favorite Fall poems (especially if you wrote them!) in the comments, too.
Happy Fall!
Personally, this is my favorite time of year.
You can make cookies, but you don't have to stress about the Thanksgiving meal. You can drink hot chocolate, but you don't have to rush through it to make it to the next choir performance or event. You can wear a jacket, but brisk walks aren't impeded by bulky snow suits. The air smells perfect and if it's too chilly outside, you just throw on a sweatshirt.
Can you tell that I love fall?
Well, seeing as its mid-November, I have noticed that my favorite season is starting to fade away into Winter. Not that I'm complaining - Bring on the snow, Michigan! - but I think that a tribute to the perfect season is in order.
In my English class, we have been doing an extensive unit on poetry, its a bit sappy for my liking, especially when most of it is of the love poetry type (Honestly, eighth graders just don't have the experience to "write an essay and convincing love poem on romance") but for Fall, the delicate language of poetry provides an excellent way to give the perfect season one final wave goodbye.
Autumn Dreams
Mary Naylor
Grinning pumpkins, falling leaves,Dancing scarecrows, twirling breeze,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Autumn is a woman growing old,
Ready to let what is dead go,
Her youthful radiance has faded, and that's sad,
But underneath she discovers a
spread of colors she didn't know she had. Little children screech and run,
Ghosts and goblins having fun,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Around her a kaleidoscope of leaves are whirling.
Deep within her visions stir of new life that will be,
A budding, a flowering, a promise unfurling.
Autumn is a woman growing old,
Ready to let what is dead go. Calico kittens, rain falling rat-a-tat-tat,
Big full moon, funny black cats,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air!
An Autumn Evening
Lucy Maud Montgomery
Dark hills against a hollow crocus skyScarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still,
And look and listen with a rapt delight,
Pausing again and yet again at will
To drink the elusive beauty of the night,
Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup,
That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73)
William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen 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 in 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 with 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.
And my own fall poem;
Perfection in Gold and Red
Emma Michael
Lively dances,blurs of gold
a blink of red,
the crunch of
foliage
fades underfoot.
The wind whispers
tales of flames
Of faeries and fauns,
and sweet pumpkin pie.
A breath of warmth,
a chilling breeze.
Above is a blue,
a rich, vast blue,
a dome for the
orange, green,
and brown.
The shouts of children,
the prance of the deer,
the trees dance,
the stream flows,
as fall grows ever near.
I had planned on adding more photos from this fall, but they won't upload. If I can figure out how to upload them, I will update this post. Otherwise, I'll let the words do the talking.
This weekend or early next week, I'm going to add a post on popular thanksgiving traditions, myths, and recipes, and the history thereof.
(see how I'm posting about upcoming posts to make me ACTUALY write the posts instead of just thinking about writing them?)
If you have a tradition or myth that you would like to see explored in my next post, please leave your suggestions in the comments. Also, I'd love to see your own favorite Fall poems (especially if you wrote them!) in the comments, too.
Happy Fall!
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