Season Turning

Season turning

The fields have been mowed, the hay is now rolled,

Autumn has dropped all her glorious gold.

Summer just a memory that might came again.

Now Winter approaches with frost, snow and rain.

But with fields that are mowed and hay that is rolled,

With a fire that burns bright to master the cold,

We’ll wait through the Winter; till the trees start to sing,

And the melody tells us we’ve moved into Spring.



Autumn for Brian

Brian, you said on Claudette’s blog how you loved autumn so here’s some pics from my file of autumn here in this lovely valley I live in, in Tasmania, which you may like to see. {I am not good with the camera like Claudette is though}





Autumn Thoughts

Autumn is my favourite time:
The heat of summer gone,
Springtime but a memory,
And winter hurrying on.

Golden days of luxury
That money cannot buy;
Warmth of season’s sunshine
Blue of season’s sky.

Time for deep reflection
In my autumn soul
To look for rhyme and reason
That makes me fully whole.

For winter will encase me
Sometime down the years,
But autumn builds my confidence
And takes away my fears.

For memories that will always
Bring this autumn glow,
Will never be removed
By winter’s cold and snow

End of Autumn

{Autumn in Australia ends-as far as the calendar is concerned- on the last day of May}

Her skirts spread all around her
In colours bold and bright,
Dame Autumn trembled slightly
As she thought of coming night.
Her reign had been so beautiful
In many special ways,
As her subjects paid her homage
Through mellow, golden days.
She knew she must move onward
For the shadows now were long.
And from somewhere in the distance
Rose the haunting cold of song.
Her hands clasped tight together,
For she knew that she had heard
The summons to depart,
Without a spoken word.
This day had found her watching
For things she’d often seen;
That had foretold for certain
The coming of a queen.
She felt an actual chilling
Form her head down to her feet,
And knew that naught was left
But a curtsy and retreat.
So she gathered up her skirts
And glided soft away;
As the calendar turned over
From the last of lovely May.
Queen Winter entered swiftly
In her frost-encrusted gown;
And fixed upon her snow-white hair
The diamond-icicles in her crown.