Sing.

An Oyster Months anthem to learn and sing ...

O'er.

OCTOBER 

My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
  Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves,
  O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
  The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
  And mingled voices of the doves and crows. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sentinel.

WHAT the SCARECROW SAW

Beneath the sky where storm clouds race,

A strawman stands in tattered grace.

An old coat holds his straw-stuffed heart,

Guarding fields where shadows dart.

His burlap face, with stitches worn,

Watches seasons, weathered, torn.

Crows may laugh, yet still he sways,

Rooted firm through smoky haze.

Scarecrow, murmur, tell the tale,

Of winds that howl and rains that wail.

Point the way, through dusk and dawn,

A silent guide till night is gone.

No voice to cry, no tears to weep,

Yet dreams he holds in straw-filled sleep

Of fields alive, of skies that hum,

Of harvests reaped when Autumn's come.

Since ancient times his spirit flies,

Carried forth in brooding skies.

Scarecrow stands, both proud and meek,

Telling tales the winds bespeak.

Scarecrow, murmur, heed the breeze,

Sing of winter when all will freeze.

Through the gales hold your ground,

A silent king with a woolen crown.

Rob Firchau

Hello.

Power.

This with a very good purpose, for where the dykes run zigzag over Romney Marsh a thick mist arises some eight feet high, and even upon nights of full moon these mists hang about the dykes like heavy rolls of a spider's web, contrasting strangely with the rest of the country, which is all bright and easily seen. And now Jerk had to ride even faster than before, for the packponies, entirely hidden by the mist curtains, were circled and circled all the way by the galloping demons and jack-o'lanterns, these last swinging their pole lights round their heads and uttering strange cries like those of the Marsh fowl, weird and ominous. This accounted, then, for all the ghost tales he had heard, for all the ghostly things those not in the secret had seen upon the Marsh, and a very clever scheme Jack thought it was, and a very good way of clearing the ground of the curious. For there is no power like superstition, and nothing that spreads quicker or is more grossly exaggerated than tales of horror and fear. 

Russell Thorndike, from Doctor Syn

Turned.

Wyeth, Witch Country, Cushing, 1973

The SCARECROW

Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this

lonely field.”

 

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I

never tire of it.”

 

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have

known that joy.”

 

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

 

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled

me.

 

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

 

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest

under his hat.

Kahlil Gibran

Watch.

Kelley, Untitled, n/d

THE SCARECROW

The Scarecrow

All winter through I bow my head

beneath the driving rain;

the North Wind powders me with snow

and blows me black again;

at midnight 'neath a maze of stars

I flame with glittering rime,

and stand above the stubble, stiff

as mail at morning-prime.

But when that child called Spring, and all

his host of children come,

scattering their buds and dew upon

these acres of my home,

some rapture in my rags awakes;

I lift void eyes and scan

the sky for crows, those ravening foes,

of my strange master, Man.

I watch him striding lank behind

his clashing team, and know

soon will the wheat swish body high

where once lay a sterile snow;

soon I shall gaze across a sea

of sun-begotten grain,

which my unflinching watch hath sealed

for harvest once again.

Walter de la Mare

Syn.

Turned.

Wyeth, Witch Country, Cushing, 1973

The SCARECROW

Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this

lonely field.”

 

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I

never tire of it.”

 

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have

known that joy.”

 

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

 

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled

me.

 

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

 

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest

under his hat.

Kahlil Gibran

Turned.

Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this
lonely field.”

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I
never tire of it.”

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have
known that joy.”

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest
under his hat.

Khalil Gibran

Scarecrow.

Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color 1964 presentation of the Thorndike classic, Dr. Syn: Alias, The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh ...

Part 1:



Part 2:



Part 3:

Ride.

OCTOBER 

My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
  Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves,
  O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
  The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
  And mingled voices of the doves and crows. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Turned.

Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this lonely field.”

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it.”

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have known that joy.”

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittle me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

Kahlil Gibran