As I noted the other day, it's well and truly autumn here. I know, of course, that
"nothing gold can stay", and that the leaves are dying; yet they are so lovely just before they go.
It put me in mind of this passage from Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility:
'And how does dear, dear Norland look?' cried Marianne
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Leaves are really what I miss about fall, even while loving everything that is bright and crisp down here...
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Jennifer Knoblock, Ink for Lit
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The smell is the richest pleasure of late fall woods.
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The Hopkins poem is one I particularly remember from college as one that really struck me. I remember the prof. explaining his take on the mortality references and how that was a lightbulb moment for me. Hopkins beatufiul language is a gift I always treasure.
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