Untidy Souls

the wind is changing.
I hear John Keats in my head often these days,
as if I knew him.
I find that his words always describe my vision, my photographs.
So this weekend I am going to take a series of photographs inspired solely by one of his poems.
in the meantime, some end of summer bits and a few of his words, as always immaculately beautiful.

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side;
and now 'tis buried deep in the next valley-glades.
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music.
Do I wake or sleep?