Day #60- More Autumn Poetry

November 29, 2012 61 Days of Fall  No comments

(c) Jessica Ceason Instagramography

“Autumn, the year’s last loveliest smile.”

William Cullen Bryant

(c) Jessica Ceason Photography

 The hazy, cloudless skies of Indian Summer. Leaves scurrying down the street before the wind. The cold shiver from an arctic blast. Indian Summer. The last warmth of the sun. Chilly mornings and glorious warm afternoons. The Harvest Moon. The Hunter’s Moon. The Rainy Season. Dry corn stalks clattering in the wind. The touch of frost on grass and window pane. The smell of burning leaves.

Keith C. Heidorn


“Winter is…

an etching, spring a watercolor, summer and oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.”

Stanley Horowitz

(c) Jessica Ceason Photography

I love Fall!

Fall is exciting.
It’s apples and cider.
It’s an airborne spider.
It’s pumpkins in bins.
It’s burrs on dog’s chins.
It’s wind blowing leaves.
It’s chilly red knees.
It’s nuts on the ground.
It’s a crisp dry sound.
It’s green leaves turning
And the smell of them burning.
It’s clouds in the sky.
It’s fall. That’s why…
I love fall.

Author Unknown

  (c) Jessica Ceason Instagramography

 A tangerine and russet cascade of kaleidoscopic leaves, creates a tapestry of autumn magic upon the emerald carpet of fading summer.

Judith A. Lindberg


(c) Aaron Watene

 For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together.

For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

Edwin Way Teale



(c) xoexanthe photography


A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.

Eric Sloane

There is a harmony in autumn, and a lustre in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?

Hal Borlan

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.

Henry Besto

(c) Jessica Ceason Photography

Ho! for the leaves that eddy down,

Crumpled yellow and withered brown,

Hither and yonder and up the street

And trampled under the passing feet;

Swirling, billowing, drifting by,

With a whisper soft and a rustling sigh,

Starting aloft to windy ways,

Telling the coming of bonfire days.

Grace Strickler Dawson


 Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

Elizabeth Bowen