autumn ramblings

Though I think for the first time, in all the time since discovering the Farm (over 10 years ago), I don't want to go back, but rather forward, I still miss it terribly at this time of year; miss it in that awful yearning way, the same way I miss my parents home of my childhood, now someone else's. I miss it in the spring too. The Farm in its seasonal vestments harkens me back like family, calling me back at it's dying time and for it's birthing season too.

I spoke with TSO yesterday and nearly wept at his voice, so homesick for the place and for my other friends there too, and for times gone; the uniqueness of the place. I am looking for the Farm in our autumn here, and though not finding it entirely, am contenting myself in the brilliance of the crisp colors, the blustery days, the painfully beautiful sunrises, and the most splendid and silvery moons.



See that wisp of a  moon?

"My November Guest"

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

She walked the sodden pasture lane.



Her pleasure will not let me stay.

She talks and I am fain to list:

She's glad the birds are gone away,

She's glad her simple worsted gray

Is silver now with clinging mist.



The desolate, deserted trees,

The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

And vexes me for reason why.



Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

And they are better for her praise.
--Robert Frost

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