Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…

That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see’st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by

Recollections…

  A morning recollection… ‘Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother’s mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known And

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose…

Whenever the sky is all set for a gorgeous sunrise or a show of similar grandeur, an inner voice whispers and I absolutely trust my intuition. So when I woke up in the wee hours of the morning for reasons unknown to see the orange-pink streamers scattered over the sky, I knew that it is

The empty chair

  Some chairs are never empty Memories sit on them… .