Autumn In The Air

There's a cold front bearing down on Georgia this week. It should arrive in metro Atlanta Friday afternoon. How appropriate.  Yes. it's a bit cooler this week but looking into the lush green woods you'd never guess there a change in seasons upon us. It's what I call the endless fall and it's one of the events I most enjoy here in north Georgia. Endless fall usually persists  well past Thanksgiving which means Christmas has a tendency to sneak up on you. I had an even harder time with that in Savannah where fall colors usually "peaked" in January if at all.

We do have signs of change as summer's clusters of color give way to the singular happy blooms on the patio and around the house. 

Perhaps the biggest seasonal change here on my little ridge is the sound. For one the tree frogs are quiet now that summer showers have ended and we're approaching the driest eight weeks of the year.

In addition we no longer have the sunset symphony of cicadas, katydids, and other insects at our door. 

In late September the concert begins well after sunset and is confined mostly to the deeper woods at the top of the ridge. Soon I'll miss their sound completely but at least conversations on the porch will no longer be drowned out by the accompaniment.

To Autumn

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

'The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,

And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

'The spirits of the air live in the smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

                                                                                  William Blake (1757-1827)



And so here's to fall, the color, the refreshment of cool breezes, pumpkins, mulled cider, and the smell of wood smoke. Perhaps it's a quieter time but there is much to be done. Take it at your own pace and have fun in Autumn 2022.