September, 2021
An early morning visit to Quebec’s Parc National d’Opemican yielded an encounter with a bear (after taking my measure, it turned around and made a hurried exit from the scene) and classic fall color tinged foliage and wonderful textures too.
And being fall, a poem is in order, no?
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
By: William Shakespeare
