and every tree is a twiddling thumb,During morning, the sun opened my book of paper lines, and I wrote a story. The story was dipped in hunger panes, and hidden desire. In my head, I was writing an entry to my own journal. A genuine story about a girl who dims the sun with her frown. One day, she follows bird seed, until, she discovers her lover bathing in fruit water. Some folks dream through cola bottles, night hours, crops through airplane windows, I dream through story telling.
Autumn is a story keeper too, weaving it's own tale. A story or song about harvests, wrinkled petals, and feet meeting golden leaves. The season is Mother Nature's gift, spreading hugs across the meadow, with stains of gold, and rouge. I've always been attached to Autumn's bringing. The soft winds blow, and pull the leaves from the tree spine. The scattered foliage dance, the wind moans.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot
To celebrate the Autumn's hour, I wore my newly crafted crown (My mom and I made).. It's the first of it's kind. I've never attempted floral-crown-making before. I am so happily pleased. Carter calls it "the queen of the harvest crown". He plays pretend, and tells me "When you wear your crown, it's as if your calling the cold front, and the changing season. As if your playing in the pumpkin patch, asking for Autumn" Inside of my chest, Autumn brings charm.
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life. ~P.D. James
Love, and celebrations. x
See you soon, (for the stray dog roaming the city: please find your way home, settle back into your bed, x)