'Boy'

Hello crafty friends...fall comes late here in the south, and although 

it's already December, I've been taking long walks with my boy, my best little buddy.

The air is crisp and mild, and the fiery coloured leaves are still falling gently.

'Boy'

I dug out the remnants of a fall kit from Scraps of Elegance, I really miss being on

the Design team of a kit club! Once a month I would find a jam packed box

full of seasonal goodies and my mind would swirl with ideas. 

This fall kit was one of my favourites, it had beautiful papers from the Prima collection

Amber Moon, which I used here to create one more page with an autumn mood.

Here are a few close ups:

I've had this chipboard word floating around my desk for ages and ages,

I finally found a page to use it on!

Ode To Autumn

1.

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-eves run;

    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.

2.

  Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

      Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

  Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

      Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

  Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

      Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

          Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

  And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

      Steady thy laden head across a brook;

      Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

          Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

3.

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

      Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

  While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

      And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

  Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

      Among the river sallows, borne aloft

          Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

  And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

      Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

      The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

          And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

- John Keats

See you soon,
Hugs, Lisa xo