The sweet calm sunshine of October, now_x000D_ _x000D_ Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold_x000D_ _x000D_ The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough_x000D_ _x000D_ drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
Interpretation
This quote celebrates the tranquility and beauty of October, emphasizing the vivid colors of fallen leaves.
William C. Bryant eloquently captures the serene beauty of October in this quote, depicting how the warm sunshine highlights the colors of autumn. The imagery of falling leaves, described as 'arrow-heads of gold,' illustrates the richness of nature and the peacefulness that accompanies the transition of seasons, reminding us to appreciate the small wonders around us.
In practice
This quote can be used to introduce a poetry reading about the beauty of autumn.
Come when the rains_x000D_ _x000D_ Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice,_x000D_ _x000D_ While the slant sun of February pours_x000D_ _x000D_ Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach!_x000D_ _x000D_ The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps_x000D_ _x000D_ And the broad arching portals of the grove_x000D_ _x000D_ Welcome thy entering.
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,_x000D_ Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green._x000D_ Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing_x000D_ With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
When April winds_x000D_ Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush_x000D_ Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up,_x000D_ Opened in airs of June her multitude_x000D_ Of golden chalices to humming-birds_x000D_ And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
Each solstice is a domain of experience unto itself. At the Summer Solstice, all is green and growing, potential coming into being, the miracle of manifestation painted large on the canvas of awareness. At the Winter Solstice, the wind is cold, trees are bare and all lies in stillness beneath blankets of snow.
Forests are the lungs of our land.
In reality, climate change is actually the biggest thing that's going on every single day.
Coyotes have the gift of seldom being seen; they keep to the edge of vision and beyond, loping in and out of cover on the plains and highlands. And at night, when the whole world belongs to them, they parley at the river with the dogs, their higher, sharper voices full of authority and rebuke. They are an old council of clowns, and they are listened to.
In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they're still beautiful.
In nature things move violently to their place, and calmly in their place.
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