The flame-red moon, the harvest moon, Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing, A vast balloon, Till it takes off, and sinks upward To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon. The harvest moon has come, Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon. And the earth replies all night, like a deep drum.
So people can’t sleep, So they go out where elms and oak trees keep A kneeling vigil, in a religious hush. The harvest moon has come!
And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep Stare up at her petrified, while she swells Filling heaven, as if red hot, and sailing Closer and closer like the end of the world.
Till the gold fields of stiff wheat Cry `We are ripe, reap us!’ and the rivers Sweat from the melting hills.
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I am mesmerized by the beauty of watercolors in nature and art. How can we not be awestruck by the glorious shades of an evening sunset or morning sunrise? They are the beauty in nature which encapsulates a feast of the eyes, a letter written on our hearts and the place we find beauty and respite from the cares of life. It is no wonder then that so much of our literature includes them. As photographers, we MUST capture them at every opportunity in every place in our world. For us, a return to the Marshes of Amelia Island, Florida and South Carolina give us photography enough art for a lifetime. They are in our estimation the joy in photography and art.
The most beautiful time of the year arrays itself in magnificent color, azure skies and bursting sun-filled days. We are traveling the Shenandoah in search of the perfect southern fall landscape. Where will it be? High or low country? Valley or mountain top? Vineyard or farm? Lakes or forests? Would it be we have many days of breathing in this beauty, fresh air with our companions in hand to capture it all. Come travel with us . . .
~ ~ ~ MY love will come in autumn-time When leaves go spinning to the ground And wistful stars in heaven chime With the leaves’ sound.
Then, we shall walk through dusty lanes And pause beneath low-hanging boughs, And there, while soft-hued beauty reigns We’ll make our vows.
Let others seek in spring for sighs When love flames forth from every seed; But love that blooms when nature dies Is love indeed!
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Love Autumnal, Oliver Jenkins