For Orthodox Christians, today is the first day of the liturgical year, and also the Feast of Creation. The perfect day to think on this:
“Who is it that forms the flowers so wisely, so delicately, arranges so splendidly, and gives form to the disordered, i.e., the shapeless, formless substances of the earth? Who gives it such wonderful form? O Creator, grant us the opportunity through flowers to embrace Thy wisdom, Thy benevolence, and Thine almighty power.”
– St John of Kronstadt
Wendell Berry has completed the giving away of himself. Memory eternal.
No, no there is no going back.
Less and less you are
that possibility you were.
More and more you have become
those lives and deaths
that have belonged to you.
You have become a sort of grave
containing much that was
and is no more in time, beloved
then, now, and always.
And so you become a sort of tree
standing over a grave.
Now more than ever you can be
generous toward each day
that comes, young, to disappear
forever, and yet remain
unaging in the mind.
Every day you have less reason
not to give yourself away.
– Wendell Berry, August 5, 1934 – August 31, 2026
From A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997
At church we had quite a few people received into the catechumenate before Liturgy. Of them, I had only met one family before, and I sat with them at the agape meal afterward. I had mistakenly thought it was my turn to work in the bookstore right off the dining hall; 
when I found out I had the “day off,” I switched gears, and got in line for a plate of chicken and rice and vegetables.
First I sat with the new family, and another catechumen joined us, and they told stories about how they got to this place in their life where they have committed to follow the Orthodox path. A couple more people stopped by to chat and share news. What is the best news? We suddenly have at least three families expecting babies!
After that conversation broke up, I moved out to the patio and joined another table of friends, and caught up a little bit on their lives. Twenty years ago one of those women and I had been in the same catechumen class together. Last spring she learned through a series of freak events — which could only be considered providential — that she had a serious genetic heart defect, and within a few weeks had open heart surgery to correct the problems that had developed without her being aware. She is on the mend now, and I was grateful to sit there by her as we rejoiced together in her survival, and in our very existence.
When I finally came home, I watered the Italian Silver Rib Chard seeds I’d planted in the ground on Friday evening, in a place where plenty of morning and midday sun will shine on them and give them a good start in the next weeks. Saturday I seeded parsley and other greens into 4-inch pots in the greenhouse. I don’t want to transplant them into the ground until I have cut down the asparagus jungle; right now it would shade that area too much.
I drank tea, and read a few poems, and articles about poetry. I’ve been sitting here just being thankful for poetry, and how happy it makes me to read poems that I like. I really want to memorize more of my favorites, including Psalms, though I find it really challenging these days.
At this point I ought to insert a short poem. Instead, I will show you the new Monarch caterpillar I discovered, ten feet or more away from where the first one disappeared.
We are pretty sure the first one didn’t crawl across the wood mulch that far to find this relatively healthy patch of leaves to munch on. So this is Caterpillar #2, and he was still there ten minutes ago when I went out to check on him; he seems to be making himself into a J shape, which is what they do before forming the chrysalis.
One of the Narrow-Leaf plants has managed to make a few narrow seed pods, in spite of the severe aphid damage. I hope they develop to the point of splitting open to reveal the fluffy white contents.
The Japanese anemones I planted not long ago are starting to bloom. In the front garden I have deep pink ones. They seem very robust, but they are afflicted with powdery mildew, poor things. And many of the flowers have fewer petals than is normal, or they are differently arranged — hmmm.
While I was out checking on the caterpillar, I snacked on a few fruits of the Arbutus unedo, known as the “Strawberry Tree.”
This year I’m not going to the mountains in late summer the way I usually do, so I have more time to enjoy the garden — and pay better attention to it. Figs are starting to ripen, and the basil crop is abundant. Time to make pesto!
Today was a lovely warm day, with sunshine. Now it’s evening, and nearly the eve of September. Good-bye to August!
Last week my housemate Bea and I drove to San Francisco to visit the grave of my uncle,
who in 1944 was buried in the National Cemetery at the Presidio.
The Presidio, originally named El Presidio Real de San Francisco, “…had been a fortified location since September 17, 1776, when New Spain established the presidio to gain a foothold in Alta California and the San Francisco Bay. It passed to Mexico in 1820, which in turn passed it to the United States in 1848.” (Wikipedia)
Its status as an Army military installation ended several decades ago and it was transferred to the National Park Service in 1994. The military cemetery remains, roughly in the middle of the park, and that is the only part of the Presidio that Bea and I had time to visit.
We wished we’d had more time. As it was, we spent quite a while locating my uncle’s grave, and after saying a prayer there, we wandered up and down the rows of headstones, reading and musing over the names and dates, for an hour and a half.
We especially noticed the married couples. Above, John A. Smith and his wife Anne M. — John was a colonel in the Army during both world wars. He was born in 1882 and died in 1948. Anne M. died in 1986.
Arthur Superior and his wife Hilda Georgina
died on the same day, October 3,1952.
It was a gorgeous day, but the wind blowing off the Bay was chilly. The views: breathtaking!
My uncle died before he became an uncle; I never knew him. But I have been remembering him to God, and hope we will meet eventually. I’m glad his precious body has had such a beautiful place in which to rest and wait. Come, Lord Jesus!
Gladsome Lights 