wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.


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Autumnal Equinox

All those lovely summer days

Under the warming sun

Turning to changes not

Unexpected, but which had perhaps been put out of

Mind.

No more leisurely days of morning birdsong

Allowing robins to

Land on my branches, singing

Ecstatically, and

Quite boldly,

Uncaring of who hears them

If they are out of tune.

Nothing to look forward to

On this autumnal equinox

Xcept to hope for a mild winter and that another spring comes soon.

 

I can’t wait for spring!


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Changing Seasons

It is almost time for the Autumn Equinox. Depending on which part of the world you live in, you will have equal number of hours of daylight and darkness on September 22 – 23. It marks the beginning of the autumn season in the northern hemisphere and spring in the southern hemisphere.

For us in North America it marks the official beginning of autumn as we head into cooler temperatures and shorter hours of daylight.

The trees and shrubs notice the change to cooler temperatures and the leaves begin to die, but as they “leave” us, as “leaves” do, they put on a magnificent show of colour on their way out.

This picture was taken in Montana, in October of 2016. It is one of my favourite photos because of the natural colour display.

“Oh, look at me, all dressed in gold,”

The quaking aspen trembles,

“Although I’m told I’m far too bold,

No other tree resembles

My shivery whispering leafy talk

When breezes tease my branches,

Admirers smile when on a walk

Around Montana ranches.”

 

Turn on your sound. In the following very short clip, you can hear the black cottonwoods, whispering. Ignore the whistle blowing in the middle of the clip. The captain is calling his dog.


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A Tale of Two Dogwoods

Big Dawg

 

Big Dawg has been here forever, growing naturally from some seeds that birds probably brought in. It has revived from being almost crowded out by other trees at its base. My friend Pat cut away many of those small shrubs and trees trying to steal Big Dawg’s nutrients and water. He freed the area around it so it got more sunlight, and it is saying thank you now by reaching up tall and blooming its appreciation.

 

Little Dawg

Little Dawg lives in a shadier place and is a more recent planting, bought from a nursery. It is slower to grow in this semi shady spot, but it seems to be quite healthy. You can see Little Dawg if you click on the dogwood posting  I made two years ago. I still am fascinated by what I found out at that time about the Fibonacci number sequence and how it relates to nature. It will be familiar to my faithful followers from that time, but the robin sitting in the arms of Little Dawg is worth a second look.

It’s Dogwood Time


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Trees

Can you imagine how shocked I was to learn, after many decades of knowing about Joyce Kilmer’s poem “Trees,” that Joyce was a man? Yes, Alfred Joyce Kilmer. He was born in the USA in New Jersey, Dec. 6,  1886. He died from a sniper’s bullet in the Second Battle of the Marne on July 30, 1918. He was only 31 years old. 

Basically he was best known for his poem about trees, which follows here:

Trees

by Joyce Kilmer

 

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

 

A tree that looks at God all day

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

 

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who ultimately lives with rain.

 

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Then along came Frederic Ogden Nash, New York writer of many funny poems, with a parody of Kilmer’s poem “Trees.”

Song of the Open Road

by Ogden Nash (1902 – 1971)

 

I think that I shall never see

A billboard lovely as a tree.

Indeed, unless the billboards fall

I’ll never see a tree at all.

 

Please visit my inspiration to do this post about trees, “Autumn Ash Trees” by Lynette D’Arty-Cross https://lynettedartycross.com/2025/10/09/autumn-ash-trees/


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Like Watching Paint Dry

Might as well do my nails while I’m watching the walnuts dry.

In the lower level, by the woodstove, the walnuts are bagged and almost ready to be hung above the woodstove to finish drying. I think I’ll have to get another burlap bag or maybe two more, to hold all those nuts as they dry. All the messy work of scraping the black goo from the shells has been done. Now we wait. Most days, I sneak a few to bring out to the squirrels.

I wonder if there will be any walnuts left by Christmas.