Oh the changing of the seasons it’s a pretty thing to see And though I find this balmy weather pleasin’ There’s the wind come from tomorrow and I hear it callin’ me And I’m bound for the changing of the seasons Oh it’s blowin’ in Chicago and it’s snowin’ up in Maine And the Islands to the south are warm and sunny And I’ve got to feel the earth shake and I gotta feel the rain And I’ve got to know a taste of more than honey
So don’t ask me where I’m goin’ or how long I’m gonna be away Don’t make me give you all the hollow reasons I’ll think of you like summer and I might be back some day When my heart miss the changing of the seasons Oh it’s blowin’ in Chicago…
Oh it’s nothing that you said and it ain’t nothing that you done And I wish I could explain you why I’m leavin’ But there’s some men need the winter and there’s some men need the sun And there’s some men need the changing of the seasons Yeah it’s blowin’ in Chicago…
Today, as I rode by, I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree In a still afternoon, When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky, But thickly, silently, They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon; And wandered slowly thence For thinking of a gallant multitude Which now all withering lay, Slain by no wind of age or pestilence, But in their beauty strewed Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay.
They are in me, in my speechless life of barrier beach As it lies open to the night, out there. … There is no out there. All is open. Open water. Open I. … On the edge of the moment that is now the center From the open sea.
Solvang Danish Days 2024 — Images and Video by kenne
Each wind that sighs from Danish waves Through Norway’s woods of pine, Of thy pale lips an answer craves: Where wast thou, brother mine? I fought for both a deadly fight; In vain to spy thy prow O’er belt and fiord I strained my sight: My fatherland with graves grew white: My brother, where wast thou?
