Back to autumn though. September for me is that transitional month,the month that signals the passing of a high sun in the sky,the scattering of seeds and thoughts of stocking up for the winter.
This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I; When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nestlings fly; And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’ And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns, And so do I; When beeches drip in browns and duns, And thresh and ply; And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe, And meadow rivulets overflow, And drops on gate bars hang in a row, And rooks in families homeward go, And so do I.
Posts
Agreed
Mine too Fishy
For all our faults - I think we need each other.
Re your opening statement - 'completely disconnected from the rest of humanity'.....
you've been to Dundee then?
I live in west central Scotland - not where that photo is...
Lol no,is that your home town?
Winston Churchill was very fond of Dundee cake if I remember rightly.
I think he was fond of most types of cake, actually. We have that in common...
No Fishy - it's just that Dundee is the easy target for many jokes in Scotland!
I think we've hijacked this thread a bit...
I live in west central Scotland - not where that photo is...
We have yes FG
Back to autumn though. September for me is that transitional month,the month that signals the passing of a high sun in the sky,the scattering of seeds and thoughts of stocking up for the winter.
A seasonal poem anyone?
Weathers
By Thomas Hardy
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
Summer and autumn
That's beautiful Steve. I've come over all misty eyed now....
He was quite good that Hardy bloke wasn't he?
I live in west central Scotland - not where that photo is...
He wrote a few good stories too! Not too good at happy endings though.