Sunday, 27 November 2011

And all its twined flowers

Now I can write. Now that the man who was peeing in the neighbour's garden has gone, I can sit easy and write.
Autumn has set in. In full swing. Glorious. I personally don't think there is any other season better to be in Kashmir.



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-eaves run;

There is an earthiness everywhere. Brown grass, red chinars, yellow leaves. And the fog that enshrouds the Sulaiman Teng (Shankaracharya Hill) giving it an air of mystery. I was hoping to go there for an evening walk, but I don’t think that’s possible now. Occupied somewhere else. But whenever I go, I’ll be posting some pictures here. I actually want to see how the city looks from the top in autumn.

Not just that, autumn comes with the permanent virtue of making you nostalgic. I never associated autumn with death and decay. To me, it was ever beautiful. A charm which spring or summer, or even winters, cannot replace. It belongs to autumns in entirety.



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.

The lines of poetry are from Ode to Autumn by Keats.




PS: I did go. Read here



3 comments:

  1. Nice blog, I liked it. Keep it coming.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you for reading. Glad you liked it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Do not think that we have withered, but we have shed our leaves for a new spring.

    ReplyDelete

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