Gold, orange, red on the horizon arrayed
And with each passing breeze they begin their cascade
Making a carpet of autumn hues
Crunching underneath our passing shoes
The beauty of nature wondrously displayed
As children await the raking,
So in the piled leaves they can wade
Padre
season’s changes bring
autumn’s mushrooms’ appearance
on damp fallen wood
Padre
The lavender is no longer in bloom
And the buddleia’s flowers are dry and gray
The trees are rich in orange and red
But brown is starting to have its way
It is that turning time of year
When chill nights follow shorter days
The neighbours ghosts and witches hang
From their garden gateways
And await the coming of the hoards
Wanting trick-or-treat to play
Padre
The moon beyond it crescent phase
A mere sliver of light
How can this be the maiden ruler
Of what we call the night?
For her timeless journey
Has brought her to the brink
And in yet one more passing of the sun
Will turn her night to ink
Padre
Brown displacing green
Annual transformation
Seasons run their course
Padre
Dew-soaked
Fine strands revealed
A camouflage no more
Now the flies can see what’s in store
A trap
Padre
The Met Office say we had the wrong type of rain
That fell too fast and went down the drain
It is drizzle that we seek
That falls slowly and into the soil does seep
To me ir doesn’t matter what kind we get
If you’re sat in the garden
You’ll still be wet
Padre
My thanks to Fandango for introducing me to The Squirrel Chase and their one-to-three challenge. I had in my file a photo of a butterfly visiting the back garden. While the lavender and vlinder are works of divine art, by photography isn’t. The challenge to run the photo through a photo processor provided some lovely results, however.
Padre
It was hot, even for this time of year. Rain was elusive, too. The government called it a national emergency. Was it just a natural cycle, or was it global warming? While that might be an important question, it didn’t make the heat any less oppressive.
Padre
I was recently at a conference in Manchester. The return journey afforded my wife and I the opportunity to take in the Peak District. Seeing that we live in the Brecks and are bordered by the Fens, the chance to see anything taller than a couple hundred of feet above sea level made a nice scenic change.
I particularly liked the dry stone walls, and the tranquillity of the pasture lands. Yes, we have sheep and cattle in East Anglia too, but the stone enclosures are so much more attractive than wire fencing.
Padre
Padre's Ramblings 