If you click to enlarge this and look left of center you will see the White Tail doe browsing beneath the old tree.
The doe and her fawn processed across the drive, past the cabin and into the front yard at dusk last evening. I didn't get a good photo of them, but they left their dainty hoof prints in the mud.
Sorry about the duplicate photo. The upload aborted twice.
A flicker siddles along the garage wall under the eaves.
Explosion of cat tail fluff.
The cat tail stand and the trees along the ditch.
Branches weighted by the snow have fallen into the pond.October's Bright Blue Weather
Helen Hunt Jackson
1830-1885
O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.
O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
What a beautiful poem (new to me). I enjoyed your photos too. We have woken up to clear blue skies today and I have every intention of having a good walk - as soon as I've put the bread to rise.
ReplyDeleteBB: Stolling outside yesterday I recalled that quote, one my Mother often used to describe an October day, and with the vast encyclopedia of the internet at my fingertips, discovered the whole poem. Very accurate descriptions as I recall the woodbine running red on the stone walls and the smell of wild grapes--which never tasted good--!
ReplyDelete"Setting bread" as my late MIL would say, is such a satisfying task, from the very start with proofing the yeast to the point where the loaves come from the oven.
I've been wondering about the "whole meal bread" which Nella Last mentions.
What wonderful reflections in the pond water xx
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