The poem I memorized in school, when we did memory work, comes back to me each year at this time. “Along the line of smoky hills, the crimson forest stands…” William Wilfred Campbell must have been standing outdoors taking in the wild colours of autumn, watching the birds fly south. His poem, Indian Summer, remains one of my favourites about this time of year. I can see it as I say the words, and I can almost smell the change in air. Unlike the steady greens of summer foliage, the whole landscape changes with the coming of the cooler air. There’s a gradual changeover from summer to fall and sometimes we barely have time to see it when all of a sudden the cool days come sneaking in and we pull out sweaters and warmer jackets and tuck the sandals in the back of the closet.
|Mums showing off their fall colour|