To Autumn

So meteorological Autumn started yesterday and it feels like it. 

Here’s hoping we get some sunshine and in the interim, here’s a bit of John Keats (1795-1821):

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, and fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells.

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.