Vagabond

Tabbie decided to wander out into the garden a few days ago, camera in hand,
to face the cold damp wind which has defined our October this year.
I could sense some dissatisfaction when the memory card was grudgingly handed over with a scowl, but Tabz’ face lit up with a big smile when I asked
if anything pretty remained in spite of the near-wintry weather.
“Vagabond” was the puzzling one-word reply I received.
It took me three days to figure it out.
D’oh!

- Aggie

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There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame,
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

- A Vagabond Song, by William Bliss Carman
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~ Photos by Tabbie ~