Moon Viewed Through Autumn Leaves

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXIII

The moon is waxing thick and heavy this week. With a clear sky this evening, I was able to grab a couple of photos of it from our front steps, sailing through the trees. Full moon will occur on Thursday evening, so don't miss the show.

There are apparently a few leaves left on the trees, which seems improbable, given that my husband and I raked approximately elebenty million of them (leaves, that is) out of our yard on this day.

Several hours later, the yard was relatively clear. But I had leaves in my boots, my socks, my hair. I even found some leaf bits later, tucked into my underwear. I guess I am a girl who likes to accessorize with leaves.

And so the song to accompany this posting is, quite appropriately, a celebration of leaves, be they bare or few or none, and whether they hang (or do not) upon the withered boughs which shake against the cold. Ed Sheeran, Autumn Leaves.