It is getting to that time of year, when the spiderwebs stretch across your doorway and everything slows down until each day is a leisurely lifetime. It is late summer, that month of transition suspended in time. And all too soon the leaves will be falling, and the rain will set in, and we will one again find our fireplaces and mugs of tea. I found these pictures today and they put me in mind of Gerard Manley Hopkins:

Margaret are you grieving
Over goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrows springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

No comments: