Season of mists and mellow whatever…

Well, the seasons have changed yet again and with the autumn comes the rain – especially for the last few days.

No rants this week – I promise! Quite a quiet week really, work hasn’t been spectacular – just more of the same no awful situations to deal with no fights fought – just as it should be really!

I had my day off on Friday and debated whether to go into town early or lay in bed for longer – town won because the forecast was for heavy rain and, although I won’t melt or shrink if I get wet, there’s nothing worse than walking around Ipswich in the rain – it’s one of those towns where everything is spread out, oh to have a lovely shopping centre!

I saw some boots a few weeks ago and thought I’d treat myself – just a pair of flat brown ankle boots (can’t have heels these days ‘cos of my poor old feet :() and of course they didn't have my size which is just typical, so I ordered a pair which will be in next week! I bought a new winter coat and a pair of trousers for work in case you’re worried that I went home empty handed!

I was home late morning, nice and dry, and decided it was time to start my next quilting challenge. Did I tell you about the blankets of love? I think I might have done, anyway, my friend at work *waves in case she’s reading this* has been showing me for the past three years her wonderful quilting handiwork and one of the things she makes are quilts for women who lose babies during pregnancy as a keepsake. I originally intended just to buy some material as a donation – which I did when I was in the US in the summer. Anyway – I’m rambling again. I decided that I would have a go myself so spent Friday afternoon hunched over the machine and cutting board. I’ve decided that it’s my cutting precision (or lack of) that lets me down and I end up trimming and trimming until the material is even, sorry – rambling – so, I ended up on Friday afternoon with a not too bad effort of a pale pink quilt top made from the pineapple technique and with Facebook support. But guess what – I had no backing fabric! I only had to go again to Quilters Haven on Saturday morning, yes I know, poor me! Now this is where the title of this post comes into the equation. As I drove to Wickham Market I was taken by the colours of the trees and the slight mist rolling off of the fields following Fridays heavy rain falls, it was truly beautiful!

So, here it is, my first blanket of love – again by no means perfect – which I hope will help somebody cope better with a sad situation – you can find more information here, if you’re interested.

It’s a very pale pink!

I dusted of my embroidery skills as well!

So what’s next? Perhaps a blue one the same (but without the wonky bits!) perhaps something else – we’ll have to wait and see!

And here’s the poem – thought I’d introduce a bit of culture!! I expect a lot of you like me only know the first few words…

To Autumn – John Keats

I

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.

II

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

III

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.