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.

well, the first stanza at least.

in unrelated news, i'm officially out of ritter sport. C very kindly carted 1kg of candy back from cologne for me which my lovely parents dutifully brought up with them when they came to visit. i'd been prudently rationing my little stash o' ritter sport until an inexplicable feeding frenzy and i polished off my last bar of erdbeer joghurt this morning. this is cause for mourning, until A's mother sends him more for me. along with the sausage and red cabbage he's going to prepare some farmer's autumn speciality with. thank god for german friends.