Ode to Autumn

Courtesy of La Tartine Gourmande

I love the changing of the seasons. There's a kind of sadness that you feel in your blood, the changing of your body rhythms, night, day. Watching the resplendence of spring lounge under the hot haze of summer. And then after such fullness, the earth cleanses itself again, shedding its leaves like an old skin. But all this happens in a big fire of color and symphony and wonder. I hate the years when fall lasts all of six minutes before that bear of a New England winter settles down until sometime in March. And I am trying not to that that so much.

So, in honor of the loveliness of fall, I'm posting this poem by the wonderful John Keats called "Autumn":