Saturday, September 23, 2006
The Seasons: Fall 2006
Goodbye Summer
Another summer is behind us. For many of us the change of seasons means different things, often depending on where we live, where we grew up. Perhaps summer is missed more by those who live in harsh climes. Thoughts of long winters can dampen the spirits.
John Donne wrote about the "fear that summer will be short" . A few days back, during dinner at a friend's house the guests talked of the fleeting summer. No doubt next year -- next summer -- we'll feel the same way.
I was fortunate to spend my childhood in a place where autumn and the cold weather were welcome. It meant the beginning of cricket season and the end of football (soccer) among other things. Now a resident of the San Francisco Bay area, I enjoy fall almost as much as I enjoy the warm months. A December morning can be wonderfully bracing -- sunny, and the sky a lovely shade of azure.
©Ian Britton, FreeFoto.comA selection of poems and haikus about autumn and the end of summer
Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. --Henry James Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short,
Sorrow and scarlet leaf,
Try to remember the kind of September
Source: http://www.egreenway.com/months/monsep.htm Maple leaves dangle. *** Frost on cold panes--rock candy --Christopher Jones © http://www.dce.harvard.edu/pubs/charles/2000/fall/cjones.html Leaves Red, green, yellow, gold Drifting slowly to the ground Wind blowing them down. --Erin, Grade 4,Farmingville School Source: http://www.ridgefield.org/farmingville/index.htm sweet as a late marriage ©http://www.vividpieces.net/2003/09/19-fall_haiku.shtmla few blossoms in fall the tattered crabapple --Erin Noteboom And my favorites: A traveler-- Let my name be thus known-- This autumnal shower. --Basho The winds that blow-- Ask them, which leaf of the tree Will be next to go ! --Soseki (translated by Harold Henderson) Finally, one by Seamus Heany. It has nothing to do with autumn. It evokes memories that linger. Song A rowan like a lipsticked girl. Between the by-road and the main road Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance Stand off among the rushes. There are the mud-flowers of dialect And the immortelles of perfect pitch And that moment when the bird sings very close To the music of what happens. Seamus Heaney Source: http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=6714&poem=31250 |
