Another week to go, methinks, before the full blaze of autumn's colors stains the forest. Right now, though, hues of russet, bronze, and clementine orange cluster under the blue as swirling leaves tickle the shorelines of the lakes. How glorious the views of sparkles on the water and bunchy clouds and rippling currents and the feel of the sun-softened air. Next weekend, the complete treasure overflow...perhaps.
A Vagabond Song
By Bliss Carmen
There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood --
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.