As I wait with anticipation for my favorite season (in a state where I’ve heard there are no changing colors), I seek solace in some of my favorite poets. I do believe that Ms. Dickinson loved autumn as much as I do. Although, you might have to look close to find her appreciation for the season. I find this poem to be more than just words about the changing of the seasons, but rather how each season affects and influences us. I am very much affected by the turning of each season.
A few incisive Mornings —
Still, is the bustle in the Brook —
Perhaps a squirrel may remain —