Saturday Sally/September 26

Sally: a brief journey; an excursion or trip.




Hop in this great old car, and we'll sally forth to some interesting places I've come across this week. More about what the Saturday Sally idea is here; and for other Sallies you may look on the sidebar under Letter Topics.


The first two entries in this week's Saturday Sally make me cry, 'oh, to be in England.'

I came upon this wonderful site at Reading Matters. I only wish I lived over there so I could go to the exhibit on my favorite writer, P.G. Wodehouse. I must make do with this absolutely wonderful audio slideshow. If any of my British blogging friends visits G. Heywood Hill LTD, please do post about it, okay? (she pleaded)

And:

How I'd love to see P.D. James in person.

My third sally brings me much closer to my home. It is a musical visit with Cheryl Wheeler. Finally there is a video of her singing her most wonderful, When Fall Comes To New England. I posted the words to this song two years ago, and will put them here too, so you may follow along.

When Fall Comes To New England

Words And Music by
Cheryl Wheeler

When fall comes to New England
The sun slants in so fine
And the air's so clear
You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine

The nights are sharp with starlight
And the days are cool and clean
And in the blue sky over head
The northern geese fly south instead
And leaves are Irish Setter red
When fall comes to New England

When fall comes to New England
And the wind blows off the sea
Swallows fly in a perfect sky
And the world was meant to be

When the acorns line the walkways
Then winter can't be far
From yellow leaves a blue jay calls
Grandmothers walk out in their shawls
And chipmunks run the old stone walls
When fall comes to New England

The frost is on the pumpkin
The squash is off the vine
And winter warnings race across the sky
The squirrels are on to something
And they're working overtime
The foxes blink and stare and so do I

'Cause when fall comes to New England
Oh I can't turn away
From fading light on flying wings
And late good-byes a robin sings
And then another thousand things
When fall comes to New England