The visitors are gone at last. Autumn is in full swing. The air is chill. Liquid light pours golden through the leaves. And the tiny birds are on their seasonal migration through my garden.
Photo: Silver Eye in maple, my garden Words to walk with:
By Emily Dickinson
"The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on. "
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