Leaves, red leaves

Leaves, red leaves

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

Leaves, red leaves waving in the sky… Today it’s cold but this marvel had to be photographed !! I love this color .. here is my beautiful Autumn ..


Novembre – Giovanni Pascoli


© Odilia Liuzzi Photography


Gemmea l’aria, il sole così chiaro
che tu ricerchi gli albicocchi in fiore,
e del prunalbo l’odorino amaro
senti nel cuore…
Ma secco è il pruno, e le stecchite piante
di nere trame segnano il sereno,
e vuoto il cielo, e cavo al piè sonante
sembra il terreno.
Silenzio, intorno: solo, alle ventate,
odi lontano, da giardini ed orti,
di foglie un cader fragile. E’ l’estate
fredda, dei morti.


Giovanni Pascoli

Pensiero d’Autunno – Ada Negri

pensiero d'autunno

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography


Fammi uguale, Signore, a quelle foglie
moribonde che vedo oggi nel sole
tremar dell’olmo sul più alto ramo.
Tremano, sì, ma non di pena: è tanto
limpido il sole, e dolce il distaccarsi
dal ramo per congiungersi alla terra.
S’accendono alla luce ultima, cuori
pronti all’offerta; e l’agonia, per esse,
ha la clemenza d’ una mite aurora.
Fa’ ch’io mi stacchi dal più alto ramo
di mia vita, così, senza lamento,
penetrata di Te come del sole.


Ada Negri

Autumn – Emily Dickinson


© Odilia Liuzzi Photography


The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.


Emily Dickinson

Trees – Joyce Kilmer


© Odilia Liuzzi Photography


I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.





Credo che non vedrò mai
una poesia adorabile quanto un albero.

Un albero la cui bocca affamata sia puntata
contro il seno dolce e crescente della terra;

un albero che guardi a Dio tutto il giorno,
ed elevi le sue braccia fogliari in preghiera;

un albero che possa vestire in estate
un nido di pettirossi fra i suoi capelli;

sulla cui superficie la neve venga deposta;
che respiri manifestamente insieme alla pioggia.

Le poesie sono cucite dai pazzi come me,
ma soltanto Dio può creare un albero.



Dark Chestnut – John Freeman

dark chestnut

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

Dark Chestnut

Thou shaking thy dark shadows down,
Like leaves before the first leaves fall,
Pourest upon the head of night
Her loveliest loveliness of all —
Dark leaves that tremble
When soft airs unto softer call.
O, darker, softer fall her thoughts
Upon the cold fields of my mind,
Weaving a quiet music there
Like leaf-shapes trembling in least wind:
Dark thoughts that linger
When the light’s gone and the night’s blind.
I see her there beneath your boughs.
Dark chestnut, though you see her not;
Her white face and white hands are clear
As the moon in your stretched arms caught;
But stranger, clearer,
The living shadows of her thought.


John Freeman


Here come the chestnuts ..

Here come the chestnuts

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

Here come the chestnuts .. and also the first real autumn chill. Today the landscape looks almost as good as if all this coolness soften the fruit, the air, the colors and objects. Today it’s cold but the sun is shining and that’s enough to make this day magical. The leaves on the lawn seem golden and all around is a real magic .. the magic of Autumn..

Ode to Autumn – John Keats

ode to autumn

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

This is a beautiful ode to Autumn, a tribute to his magic. I am extremely impressed and enchanted by the words of the great John Keats..

To Autumn

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.

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.

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.


John Keats (1820)


Chestnut on the Ground – Pablo Neruda


© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

I have always found this poem about chestnuts is fantastic. Only Neruda is able to convey emotions as if they were written in a painting. You do not know it ? Here it is..

From bristly foliage
you fell
complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,
as perfect
as a violin newly
born of the treetops,
that falling
offers its sealed-in gifts,
the hidden sweetness
that grew in secret
amid birds and leaves,
a model of form,
kin to wood and flour,
an oval instrument
that holds within it
intact delight, an edible rose.
In the heights you abandoned
the sea-urchin burr
that parted its spines
in the light of the chestnut tree;
through that slit
you glimpsed the world,
bursting with syllables,
the heads of boys
and girls,
grasses stirring restlessly,
smoke rising, rising.
You made your decision,
chestnut, and leaped to earth,
burnished and ready,
firm and smooth
as the small breasts
of the islands of America.
You fell,
you struck
the ground,
nothing happened,
the grass
still stirred, the old
chestnut sighed with the mouths
of a forest of trees,
a red leaf of autumn fell,
resolutely, the hours marched on
across the earth.
Because you are
a seed,
chestnut tree, autumn, earth,
water, heights, silence
prepared the germ,
the floury density,
the maternal eyelids
that buried will again
open toward the heights
the simple majesty of foliage,
the dark damp plan
of new roots,
the ancient but new dimensions
of another chestnut tree in the earth.


Pablo Neruda


Fall, leaves, fall – Emily Bronte

Fall, leaves, fall

© Odilia Liuzzi Photography

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;

Lengthen night and shorten day;

Every leaf speaks bliss to me

Fluttering from the autumn tree.

I shall smile when wreaths of snow

Blossom where the rose should grow;

I shall sing when night’s decay

Ushers in a drearier day.


Emily Bronte