"Autumn Thoughts" by Joan Adams Burchell
(all copyright)

Two Beautiful Photos by Michael (see the other one below)


When gems of summer look tired and sad, we clean up reluctantly;

When autumn colours replace summer's jewels, it happens gradually.

By the time summer's packed and put away, warm russetts and reds catch our eye;

Crimson and gold step softly in and we haven't had time to spy.

When we watch flocks of geese flying south, suddenly all is clear;

The seasons have changed in the blink of an eye - the fall of the year is here.

When we take a deep breath of crisp autumn air, it's a tonic and a relief,

And we know we have secretly waited for this - the season that's hallowed, but brief.

Stately spruce, green balsam and pine accentuate amber and cream;

And when coloured leaves float silently down they're a blanket on which we can dream

Of pumpkin and spice, and family, gathered around the fire,

Mesmerized by autumn's treasures - all that a heart could desire.



There's something about the last cut of summer - whether it's early or late;
Summer has faded and colours of autumn have raced in at a breathtaking gait.
Call me nostalgic or maybe a fool as I push the mower slowly and sure;
The rows, neat and even and ever-so green - cutting grass, to me, is a cure.
The mower all cleaned out and put safely away - where did the summer months go?
I'll miss the sweet smell of fresh-cut grass; there isn't a smell to snow.
Snow! Oh no! Can I do it this year? It's harder to shovel than mow.
But when the time comes and I'm knee-deep in white I'll try shovelling row upon row.
Jack Frost will be nipping at fingers and toes and I'll end up all icy and wet,
But with each row I shovel I'll think of the green and vow summer I'll never forget.


Seasons Flying

It seems like only yesterday the Canada geese flew north;
Today, they're headed south again - so quickly back and forth.
Spring and summer have faded away and autumn now is here;
Then comes winter's icy blast and mountains of snow appear.
Time travels on, so never fear - spring will be reborn,
And once again we'll watch the geese and hear each honking horn.


Little Things

A multi-coloured tapestry lay upon the ground;

My feet skipped over brown pinecones and red maple-leaves spread 'round.

My nose was tickled with allergen wood smoke hanging, still, in the air;

I pictured a cozy family scene and tho' I sneezed, didn't care.

Aroma escaped from an open window - mouth-watering apple pie,

And I could taste the apples and spice and heard myself give a sigh.

The crisp air was biting on my cheeks and my pockets sheltered my hands;

Birds were rendering their late-day song here and across these lands.

Children, together, were coming from school, chatting all the way;

My dog welcomed me as I opened my door; little things made a good day.



Clam-shaped clouds against the blue, as white as white can be,
Arranged in a soft and quilt-like pattern, inviting us to see.
I often watch, throughout the day, the quick-change artist flee
From sand, hills, and tiny lakes, so angel doves I see.
One day I felt I could climb upon a horse, fast-footed and white;
Today, I'd like to snuggle beneath that quilt of blue and white.


"Last Colours" by Michael