Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring ...
William Wordsworth, September, 1819
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The starlings are here, resplendent in their green and purple finery, come to gorge on the damsons that drip from the hedgerows hereabouts; their chatter is all of autumn.
Up on the hill the heather has flowered. There's a chill in the air at dusk and a mist on the river at dawn. The year is turning, can you feel it?