Line(s) of the Day #ToAutumn #Yeats

John-Keats pic

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue

From the last stanza of To Autumn by the beloved English romantic poet John Keats (1795 – 1821). Despite his hugely untimely death at aged 25, Keats is still considered one of the greatest ever poets. You can my other favourite lines from his Ode to a Nightingale poem here.

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Gr8at: Osterley Park

The weather may be pretty erratic at the moment today in London but it wasn’t so long ago that it was gorgeous sunshine. When I went to see the Jurassic Kingdom exhibition I saw the wonderful trees, gorgeous Middle Lake and wide-open space within Osterley Park, so just had to take some photographs to share with you.

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Line(s) of the Day #Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

The closing lines of the poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (1922) by the much loved poet Robert Frost. Written in an iambic tetrameter, it is Frost’s most famous poem, after The Road Not Taken. My thanks to the supremely talented Tosha Michelle for reminding me.

Gr8at: Autumn Mist Photographs

I don’t normally post two Gr8ats concurrently, but I saw a article on the BBC website that really caught my eye. BBC Autumnwatch asked the public to send in their photographs of Autumn Mist and they put them on their website here. The eight photographs below are my favourite. Is there one that stands out to you? Is Autumn the season you like most?

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Creative: The Hand of Nature

The cold, transparent, frozen, hand of Winter
with its heavy, shivering, fingers
and sharp yet fragile claws,
touches all it can see,
covering three season’s worth of nature
with its web of glass,
and the haunting words it uses
confirms its work has been done.

Spring’s hand gently yet forcefully
pushes Winter aside
with its leafy green, smooth, steady fingers,
and removes all of Winter’s trace
with a few brief touches
that have been rehearsed for so long,
concluding with a lovely melody
that it sings quietly with perfect rhythm.

Summer’s decorated, dextrous, talented hand
joyfully arrives,
waving goodbye to spring,
while at the same time
summoning the rest of the animal kingdom,
who are attracted,
by the infinite shades of yellow,
and the hypnotically enchanting
wordless song sung with such happiness.

Autumn’s hand gives a quiet signal
to the ever rejoicing Summer,
before the ever different creatures
are warned
by the warm, comforting, auburn
cloak more than hand,
through repeated murmers,
that those heavy, shivering fingers
are not far away.