Autumn, the year’s last,
~William Cullen Bryant
Autumn has indeed come; but summer lingers
On here unwilling to let go its lusty hold upon us.
Though the lawn and garden remain green
and dotted with a smidgen of blossoming flowers,
The landscape and I are growing more and more weary
as well as frazzled and bedraggled in these rainless days.
Sadly we must yet wait, like it or not, for
vignettes such as these in the photos and John Keats
“season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” to arrive,
As well as keep yearning for our souls to be wedded to the
Autumn deliciousness of which George Eliot spoke.
Too we must continue waiting for Thomas Hood’s
“Shadowless misty morns” that stand in silence,
Silence in which we wait yet again watching for the
For magical autumn’s slant of golden light, as we…
Try to envisage Albert Camus’ “second spring” in
Which, as he said, every leaf becomes a flower.
Then at long last we can ponder Robert Brownings’
“mute appeal to sympathy” for autumn’s inevitable decay.
Be patient, then, brothers and sisters, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains. ~James 5:7 ✝
**All photos via Pinterest