"Thistledown's Flying"

My blip pic is of an orange swift moth that I found in my kitchen this morning. Poor thing doesn't have a suitable proboscis so can't eat. :(

My extra is thistledown flying with ripe blackberries in the background.  It's not autumn but is feeling like it after the heatwave. John Clare's Autumn poem fits.

The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still, 
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill, 
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot; 
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot. 

The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread, 
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead. 
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed, 
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed. 

Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun, 
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run; 
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; 
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.