Fall

Deep autumn has arrived.  The air nips pleasantly.  The tops of the mountains are dusted with snow and the leaves in the valley are still a riot of color.

This is my favorite autumn poem and I just had to post it again.  

A Vagabond Song

By Bliss Carman

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood -- 
Touch of manner, hint of mood; 
And my heart is like a rhyme, 
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. 

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry 
Of bugles going by. 
And my lonely spirit thrills 
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. 

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; 
We must rise and follow her, 
When from every hill of flame 
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 

Happy Autumn!