A combination is
Of Crickets - Crows - and Retrospects
And a dissembling Breeze
That hints without assuming -
An Innuendo Sear
That makes the Heart put up its Fun
And turn Philosopher
Emily Dickinson #1271 TJ
This poem is about the changing seasons from summer to fall. It is funny how the seasons seem to creep up on us. We go to bed, and next thing you know you have to wake up with an alarm in the cold and dark. Pleeeease just 10 more minutes.
But right before it starts to get cold September is that magical month. The colors and breeze of September feel so good, caressing us like a child about to fall asleep.
In this poem I imagine Emily Dickinson waking up to put her gardening tools away, retreating to the parlor to sit by the fire, with no phone or TV, just her and her minds philosophies.