September 6th, 2012

Berries

Season of mists and bla bla bla


How I hated that poem when I was younger.  It seemed to push aside the still-perfectly-good summer and be rushing needlessly ahead, without acknowledging that a *proper* autumn wasn't about sun on hazelnuts, but about wild winds and crunchy leaves and frost and bonfires.   The poem has grown on me a bit since, but I still think 'close bosom-friend of the maturing sun' is an utterly ludicrous line. 
Collapse )