Autumn. It was always my favorite season. The warm afternoons, cool evening, the leaves falling. I got married in the autumn and in the next few days will celebrate another year.

I came across a poem recently that spoke of this time of year.

Song for Autumn
In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.
–Mary Oliver
It speaks of the season in ways I had not considered. A natural order that accepts the coming changes.

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