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Falling Into Autumn

September 25, 2007

Autumn, Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

I enjoy Fall. 

The crisp, cool air it (eventually) brings. 

The joy of climbing ladders and picking apples off a tree. 

The golds, yellows, reds, and yes, even oranges, are beautiful. 

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla, caramel and apple fill the air. 

Football games and holidays spent with family. 

Wearing sweaters, falling back an hour and feeling the wind blow through the trees. 

Yes, I enjoy Fall. 

And even though it doesn’t quite seem like it has arrived where I live, I am celebrating its official start a few days ago, knowing that the hopes for the “real deal” to arrive will soon be fulfilled.

        September, 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.

    

 

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