Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze—
A few incisive Mornings—
A few Ascetic Eves—
Gone—Mr. Bryant's "Golden Rod"—
And Mr. Thomson's "sheaves."
Still, is the bustle in the Brook—
Sealed are the spicy valves—
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The Eyes of many Elves—
Perhaps a squirrel may remain—
My sentiments to share—
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind—
Thy windy will to bear!
A couple of maple trees on main street are showing a touch of red, harbingers of fall coming soon. Frequently a deer comes to drink from the pond across the street. His antlers are still covered with velvet. The pad of pelicans that spent the summer on a slough west of town are gone...migrating or to a better feeding water? Egrets stalk the shoreline of the little pond which is now much shrunken from the drought. Occasionally I've found myself chilly with night time temperatures in the fifties. Yes, we're 11 days from the end of summer. Time certainly passes on quick feet.
Takk for alt,
Al
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