Tag Archives: autumn

The Birds of Passage

THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE

You are the one who made us
You silver all the minnows in all rivers
You wait in the deep woods
To find the newborn fox cubs
And unseal their eyes
You shower the sky with stars

You walk alone
In the wild royal darkness
Of the heavens above the heavens
Where no one else can go.

When the fragile swallows assemble
For their pilgrimages
When the hummingbirds
Who are scarcely more
Than a glittering breath
Set out for the rain forest
To drink from the scarlet flowers
On the other side of the world
With only now and then
The mast of a passing ship
For a resting place and an inn

When the Canada geese
Are coming down from the north
When the storks of Europe
Stretch out their necks toward Egypt
From their nests on the chimney tops
When shaking their big wings open
And trailing their long legs after them
They rise up heavily
To begin their autumn flight

You who speak without words
To your creatures who live without words
Are hiding under their feathers

To give them a delicate certainty
On the long dangerous night journey.

-Anne Porter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo is from the Chirp for Birds website.

The appley time of year.

My granddaughter Maggie (photo above from a different stage of her life) was here from Wisconsin for a night and a day this week, with her husband Wil. They are expecting a baby in a few months, glory to God. One thing we did during our visit was to drive to the apple orchards where I always go. This time I brought home a box full of Rome Beauties, Baldwins, and Pippins. I think I’ll start dehydrating most of them next week, but for now, the garage where they are waiting is very aromatic.

I have so many lovely paintings I’ve saved in digital files on my computer, and not enough poems and other blog posts to attach them to. I may have to contrive reasons to put up my favorites, maybe without stories. But apples are a fallish topic, so in this case it they give me an obvious opportunity to share this painting below.

Henry La Thangue, A Sussex Autumn

 

What’s really liquid.

THE STOCK MARKET LOSES FLUIDITY

I’ll show you what’s really liquid—it’s this sunlight pouring down
from the west, from the great glass jar of the sky. The creek playing
its little tune, running over the stones. The descant of syllables
in the mockingbird’s song. For not a single hickory nut
banked by the squirrels will gain any interest.
Not a grain of wheat in the wallet of a chipmunk’s cheek
will increase in worth. The bear’s fat layer is its IRA.
Here in the woods, it’s autumn’s great investment portfolio; look,
everything’s turned the color of money: copper, brass, gold.

-Barbara Crooker

 

 

 

They preach without a sound.

THE WITHERED LEAF

Oh! mark the withered leaves that fall
In silence to the ground;
Upon the human heart they call,
And preach without a sound.
They say, So passes man’s brief year!
To-day, his green leaves wave;
To-morrow, changed by time and sere,
He drops into the grave.
Let Wisdom be our sole concern,
Since life’s green days are brief!
And faith and heavenly hope shall learn
A lesson from the leaf.

-William Lisle Bowles

Stanislaw Zukowski, A Walk in the Woods