Autumn has long been my favorite season. I love the crisp breezes, crackling leaves under foot, and the smell of fresh apple cider. There’s something nostalgic and reflective to this season that I find delightful.
I reread William Shakespeare‘s 73rd Sonnet this week, which is a meditation on the fall season, and I thought I’d share it with you, without commentary, for your reflection and enjoyment.
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 ruin’d choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d by that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Remember, you are loved, more than you know!
