It's Time To Say Goodbye....

It's time to say goodbye to autumn.....  Remember how we anticipated its cooler weather, colorful leaves, and hazeless blue skies.  Well, today is the last day of November.  Tomorrow starts the holiday season that December brings.

Before we part ways for another year, let's take a last look at the spirit of autumn.  For Thanksgiving our family gathered at Jamie's in Dallas.  Instead of shopping on Black Friday, we went to the Dallas Arboretum. Here are some pictures of their Pumpkin Village.

 

 

 

The last days of autumn also mean bottling the wine we started in September. 

 

 

 

 

The time of the falling leaves has come again. Once more in our morning walk we tread upon carpets of gold and crimson, of brown and bronze, woven by the winds or the rains out of these delicate textures while we slept.
      How beautifully the leaves grow old! How full of light and color are their last days! There are exceptions, of course. The leaves of most of the fruit-trees fade and wither and fall ingloriously. They bequeath their heritage of color to their fruit. Upon it they lavish the hues which other trees lavish upon their leaves....
      But in October what a feast to the eye our woods and groves present! The whole body of the air seems enriched by their calm, slow radiance. They are giving back the light they have been absorbing from the sun all summer.
                                                          ~John Burroughs, "The Falling Leaves," Under the Maples


Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent.... The wind.... wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange, yellow, and scarlet, all are changed to one melancholy russet hue.... There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines.... It is the funeral anthem of the dying year.
                                                              ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Carole, Honey (our Mom), Jamie, me, and Tom (our Dad)

                                                                                   Love ya'll, Shelli