Falling leaves

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 10th

Now constantly there is the sound,

quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds
loud—a landmark—now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.

Wendell Berry

 

 

The valley grows wild with riotous colour - a last fling before

 

somber November comes to haunt us with its memories