October's Almost Over

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crispèd and sere,
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir:
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

From Ulalume, by Edgar Allan Poe

These pictures were taken in my woodland on Polecat Creek Farm.






I doubt that ghouls haunt it. And it wasn't night. The sky wasn't especially ashen. And the leaves aren't crispèd and sere. And it isn't misty.

But aside from that, it is October. At least for a few more days.

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