Yes, I am ready for fall. The sights, smells, colors. They all intrigue me. Last fall I made dozens of these cute little corn husk angels. I ended up using them on my Christmas tree!
Corn husk angels
I made dozens of twig stars last fall that also ended up on the Christmas tree. I can't help but start getting excited when the humidity finally breaks. It is a sign of things to come!
Twig star
Are there certain foods that you normally only make during the fall and winter? This mystery cake is a favorite! I make lots of soups and stews during the winter and am already anticipating a big pot of venison stew!
Yes, I know it's early. I'm like a kid in a candy store - I canNOT wait for fall. I love the mums and pumpkins.
Let's not forget the gourds!
Pretty isn't it?
I always use these to decorate.
And these end up sprinkled throughout the house.
Can you tell I'm ready for fall?
To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
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;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
- John Keats
