rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Between Nights

Chasing the the storm came wind that blew a cape of leaves to hide the lawn. The street, too, where pines rise near enough, gained a carpet of pale brown needles by that agitated air. While night lasted the fluttering never ceased, and as the sun neared the horizon there was no pause, and as I went to sleep I heard the rustling and soft keen.

But by afternoon the air grew bright and calm. A plethora of birds emerged to bask in the light and peck at the soft, drying ground. Before the storm hints of summer had remained, but in its wake all seems fully autumnal, however mild the day.

The tallest oaks now select the sunlight's gold to send back to the pale blue sky, though some smaller oaks remain merely brown. The mulberry, of course, continues to sport much green, but that is now mingled with a yellow which lends a melancholy shade to the day's later hours. Of the season's colors, most vivid are the reds now emerging on the dogwood leaves. The cloudless day has inhabited October utterly, even while the sun of noon beat down and set the bees abuzz. It's all winterward from here.




Sunday Verse

A Half-Way Pause


by Dante Gabriel Rossetti


The turn of noontide has begun.
In the weak breeze the sunshine yields.
There is a bell upon the fields.
On the long hedgerow's tangled run
A low white cottage intervenes:
Against the wall a blind man leans,
And sways his face to have the sun.

Our horses' hoofs stir in the road,
Quiet and sharp. Light hath a song
Whose silence, being heard, seems long.
The point of noon maketh abode,
And will not be at once gone through.
The sky's deep colour saddens you,
And the heat weighs a dreamy load.

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