Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,
But soon they’ll turn to ghosts.
— William Allingham (1824-1889), Irish poet
Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.
the great orange bed where we lie
like two frozen paintings in a field of poppies.
— Anne Sexton (1928-1974), American poet and writer
clusters of red, the hedges are full of them,
red-currant red, a graceful
ornament or a merry smile.
Thanks for bringing a little Fall to Southern California.
The photographers are: