Ano Novo

Folhas

Leaves

"How silently they tumble down

And come to rest upon the ground

To lay a carpet, rich and rare,

Beneath the trees without a care,

Content to sleep, their work well done,

Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly

Until they nearly reach the sky.

Twisting, turning through the air

Till all the trees stand stark and bare.

Exhausted, drop to earth below

To wait, like children, for the snow."

Elsie N. Brady - Poeta escocesa

Novembro

"November comes

And November goes,

With the last red berries

And the first white snows.

With night coming early,

And dawn coming late,

And ice in the bucket

And frost by the gate.

The fires burn

And the kettles sing,

And earth sinks to rest

Until next spring."

Elizabeth Jane Coatsworth (1893-1986)

American author of fiction and poetry

Mais Narcisos

Talvez os últimos Narcisos deste ano, mas nunca se sabe. Pode sempre aparecer um que se atrasa ou se engana na Estação. No final um poema do poeta inglês William Wordsworth sobre Narcisos.

Maybe the last Daffodils of the season but you never know. There's always the chance of a late bloomer. In the end of this post, a poem from the english poet William Wordsworth.

"Daffodils" (1804)
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Palavras

'Let us be gratefull to people who makes us smile, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.'

Marcel Proust

Híbrido de Phalaenopsis