Sear Are the Leaves

I am pleased the house exterior upkeep is almost complete and disposed for the tyrannical winter ahead.

The trees are changing into their autumn attire. Shedding their summer leaves in eddies, the woods are ready for another spectacular fall color finale. This October morning's brisk air is redolent with the smell of garlic stocks being planted in some field.


Autumn (1913)
James E. Pickering

A light mist creeps across the downs:
A gleam through clouds is faintly seen:
The grass is wet with heavy dew:
Sear are the leaves that once were green.
I walk at midday when the sun
Throws still some welcome warmth and light:
A chill comes with the afternoon,
And icy is the air at night.
Summer is dead. Its shrouded form
Lies on the logs that make its pyre,
And fancy sees its ghost ascend,
A shadowy wraith above the fire.