To Autumn

A couple of lines from the John Keats poem "To Autumn"

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 

Picture ripped from the archives of Daily Bread and modified

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?"

"Songs of Spring" eh, I'm still wondering where Summer went, although past is past and a better question would be what will winter bring? 

An even better approach would be to paddle out in this mornings fog and have a go at the waves that are here and now.


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