Philosophy Now Forum

The leaves are now piling up underfoot, and the weather has definitely turned. Schools went back last week, as I know only too well, as the leisure centre where I work adjoins a school, and during the weekdays, in term time, they share our facilities. The worst heat of summer has now hopefully finished for the year, with the promise of cooler and fresher days ahead. I was caught in a sudden torrential downpour a few days ago on the way home, and got totally drenched, which I enjoyed far more than is healthy, I'm sure. This time of year always reminds me of the Justin Hayward song from War of the Worlds, Forever Autumn, which is truly beautiful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJbp_GjD9VE

I recall this Joni Mitchell song every autumn. Genius.

I first heard the Tom Rush cover while in the desert at the base of a gigantic, sheer wall of an escarpment marbled with shades of red and rust.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVfPJAd ... rt_radio=1

*

This is the introduction of the song to the world. In the film recording the musicians are on stage with Mitchell, listening intently to such newness. Voice like a bird.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtbDZhj ... rt_radio=1

Walker wrote: ↑Fri Oct 03, 2025 8:24 am I recall this Joni Mitchell song every autumn. Genius.

I first heard the Tom Rush cover while in the desert at the base of a gigantic, sheer wall of an escarpment marbled with shades of red and rust.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVfPJAd ... rt_radio=1

*

This is the introduction of the song to the world. In the film recording the musicians are on stage with Mitchell, listening intently to such newness. Voice like a bird.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtbDZhj ... rt_radio=1

Both versions are spine-tingling.

John Keats chips in:

.......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

.


Percy Shelley adds his 2 cents

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,.....

....

John Keats chips in:

.......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

.


Percy Shelley adds his 2 cents

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,.....

....


Maybe the leaves aren't fleeing from an enchanter. They just have "the urge for going.*