This is my favorite season. The colors, the crisp air, the coziness of it all...I look forward to it every year. And since we live in Indiana now, we get a true, true fall. Our city is filled with colors of crimson, and burnt orange, and mustard yellow. It's so beautiful and I wish I could bottle it up and send it to all my Louisiana friends. Although it's pretty green still here....you can see a few colors starting to peak out from the trees. It's exciting to welcome a new chapter of change.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I have a playlist on Spotify that will help you get in the seasonal mood. It is a little back country, a little this and a little that. Most importantly, it's relaxing. I play it on and off throughout the day, and it really helps set my mood. I love listening to it while I cook or while Pier and I play in the living room. You can find me under "emilyfossier" I think. Enjoy!
“Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.”