This autumn,
How old I am getting:
Ah, the clouds, the birds!
Bashō
This verse that succinctly expresses my own feelings of the season, I found on the blog First Known When Lost, a place where I am always confident of finding beauty and serenity. In the post I link to, “Awake,” the blogger offers a well chosen smattering of haiku by Matsuo Bashō, including a good representation of autumn poetry, and commentary by by R. H. Blyth. Read the whole post to learn how Bashō can wake us up.
“First, I took a running leap,
and then, half buried in the heap
that we’d raked up, I lingered, caught
in a cocoon of leaves and thought.”
That is the first stanza of a new poem by Jean L. Kreiling, which I just read on the website of the Plough Publishing Company. The title is “After Helping my Father Rake the Leaves,” and it is rich with images of the season, “hot colors from a chilling world,” and memories of the poet’s father, who “turned his face into the wind” — a metaphor for his inspiring life and attitude.
You can read the whole loving poem on the Plough site.
Friend Bella and I took a hike early in the morning, into the hills nearby. The slopes all around have gone from the winter green stage on through the golden months, and are now dull brown. But they are not unpleasant to look at from a distance, and in addition to the ubiquitous oaks, bay trees make dark green splotches here and there.
At close range one sees the hard and bare dirt, the tufts of grass withered to shreds, and minimalist lichens on the rocks looking healthy and pretty. Those autumnal scenes are bleak, compared to the real deserts I recently visited. We took our tonic from the fresh air, and I took a picture of the new-to-me and alien Purple Star Thistle, whose flowers beautify the neighborhood, while its thorns warn, “Stay away!” Honestly, I am minded to stay away from this particular park until the rains come and once again water the earth to green.
I am in Nevada with Pippin’s family. We met last night in Lamoille Canyon in the Ruby Mountains, after they had driven one long day to get here, and I had taken two shorter days. I arrived less than two hours before them, because I dawdled so much on the way — which was, after all, what I had made provision for by traveling in a more leisurely way.
But did you know that the speed limit is often 80 mph in the wide open spaces of Nevada? Though that aspect of my journey might not seem leisurely, I did very much enjoy the hours of passing through ever-changing magnificent rock formations and groupings of different colors and textures of sage and other scrub brush. I had lingered over breakfast with friends in Reno yesterday and appreciated being able to take my leisure at high speed.
I wish I could write one of my leisurely travelogues, too, but I prefer to give my time to gawking at monoliths, studying beaver dams, and walking up Lamoille Creek to the place where the grandchildren have their fairy houses and boats (built for toy dragons nowadays).
But I’d like to show you enough pictures to make a proper representation of this glorious place. I am staying in an Airbnb lodging on a cattle and chicken ranch with a view of those Ruby Mountains out my bedroom window. I can see the stars from my bed at night, and it takes only 15 minutes to drive up to the campsite where the rest of the group are staying. Their campsite looks very much like the one that our family used more than 30 years ago, and Pippin does remember being here.
We’ll be in Nevada for a couple more days, and I hope to post again about my expedition.
Gladsome Lights 