Autumn is the season that inspires me – a season of falling autumn leaves, woollies, hats and gloves, boots, hot chocolate and autumn tone jewellery, cosy cats, apples, acorns, conkers, Halloween and pumpkins, candles, toadstools, and autumn colours of bronze, brown, red, amber, yellow, silver, and gold.
What do you love about Autumn?
Yellow Leaves – Oak and Acorn and Acer © Lisa Shambrook
The leaves fall patiently, Nothing remembers or grieves,
the river takes to the sea, the yellow drift of leaves.
– Sara Teasdale
Woollies and Sweaters and Boots © Lisa Shambrook
Fallen leaves are autumn’s equivalent to snow – they bring out the child in you.
– Anon
Hot Chocolate and Autumn Jewels © Lisa Shambrook
The morns are meeker than they were, the nuts are getting brown;
the berry’s cheek is plumper, the rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf, the field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.
– Emily Dickinson (Nature 27 – Autumn)
Cosy Cats © Lisa Shambrook
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
– George Eliot
Apples – Acorns – Conkers © Lisa Shambrook
A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.
– Eric Sloan
Halloween – Candles – Autumn Colours © Lisa Shambrook
Colors burst in wild explosions, fiery, flaming shades of fall.
All in accord with my pounding heart, behold the autumn-weaver,
in bronze and yellow dying. Colors unfold into dreams,
in hordes of a thousand and one.
The bleeding, unwearing their masks to the last notes of summer.
Their flutes and horns in nightly swarming. Colors burst within.
Spare me those unending fires, bestowed upon the flaming shades of fall…
– Dark Tranquility (With the Flaming Shades of Fall)
Toadstools © Lisa Shambrook
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
– Albert Camus
What are you loving this autumn?
The Last Krystallos 