Remembrance

The Falling Leaves


Today, as I rode by,
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
In a still afternoon,
When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky,
But thickly, silently,
They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon;
And wandered slowly thence
For thinking of a gallant multitude
Which now all withering lay,
Slain by no wind of age or pestilence,
But in their beauty strewed
Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay.

by Margaret Postgate Cole

The wreath is one of several in our local Garden of Remembrance at Street library.

Spent the day baking bread, making chicken stock from the remains of yesterday's roast, finishing re-organising the study and taking more of what we turned out in the process down the tip. Not the weather for much photography.