Poetry Sunday

We're well and truly into autumn, now, when the days are getting shorter and cooler and the nights longer and deeper and more mysterious. Halloween is only about two weeks off, and after that the holidays tumble over us one after the other through the end of the year. Today is October 8^th, which is two days too early for this poem, but it is October, and the imagery applies ...

October 10 

by Wendell Berry 

Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.
Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.
Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.
The calling of a crow sounds
Loud — landmark — now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.

Have a good day, and enjoy the crisp days and the cool nights so good for sleeping with open windows. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo