Autumn

[brightpearl]

I'll be damned. For years, I thought this was about apples.

After Apple-Picking
Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

[Marcus Bales]

The Fall Comes

All you see that moment is the sheen
Reflected off his golden coat, his tongue
A noisy comma added in between
Two panting moments, then taken from among
Them in the next; his clear and following eyes
Light up unshaded in the summer light
That fills the western window like goodbyes
Fill lyric verse; and all the world is bright
As those two quivering tears that stand unshed
As she takes in what you are shocked you've said.

And then the tears are gone: her hand around
The champagne flute is steady, and the soft sound
She makes to call the dog is calm. She turns,
They leave, the fall comes, and your life burns.

[Jack Flanders]

Originally Posted by auntie aubrey

autumn: a time for "fruity pebbles" trees in north georgia.

OMG!!! AHHHH....