Tag Archives: autumn
Come again shining glance.
THE LOVE OF OCTOBER
A child looking at ruins grows younger
but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
… walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun.
–W.S. Merwin
Facing autumns.
A few years ago I shared a link to this poem so that you could read it in its entirety on the Plough website. Today I’m posting the whole of it here. The poet takes us on a short journey through childhood memories, nostalgia, loss and grief, but doesn’t stop there. She shows how we can honor the memory of those we mourn by living out their virtues in our own lives.
With every autumn that we face, the winter of our life is following closer than ever. Darkness stalks, but I believe each of us has at least one match with which we can light our own “bright fires of love and work,” (and for some of us, even wit) and that these can continue broadcasting waves of encouragement indefinitely.
AFTER HELPING MY FATHER RAKE THE LEAVES
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.
I still remember how they smelled,
those castoffs autumn winds had felled—
both old and fresh, both wild and clean,
the sweet decay of summer’s green;
and how they looked—small flags half-furled,
hot colors from a chilling world.
I breathed more deeply for a few
enchanted seconds. More leaves flew
as Dad watched, leaning on his rake.
He must have known what seasons take.
Leaves bright as fire broadcast their dark
reminder: beauty was a spark
that couldn’t last, the freshened breath
of autumn air foreshadowed death.
But even so, my father grinned
and turned his face into the wind.
Years later, I’d learn just how brave
my father was, and how a wave
of chill or doubt could leave him caught
in his own grim cocoon of thought.
A darkness stalked him, but he lit
bright fires of love and work and wit,
and faced the wind, and found his way
for decades past that autumn day.
And now I kindle every flash
of memory that warms the ash
of loss. I see his profile still,
and face my autumns with his will.
-Jean Kreiling
We bloom and drink, and wait.
In Wisconsin my daughter Pearl has been tending a large house and garden for about eight years. She’s much more artistic and organized than I, about all of the design and execution of beautiful spaces indoors and out. She does all the work herself, even to the point of laying bricks to create a quiet and somewhat hidden corner to sit in, with morning sun and afternoon shade. It’s a wonderful spot winter or summer, and I enjoyed it with Pearl on one of my visits. This time, she had little time for sitting, what with being the wedding planner for Maggie. While she was bustling about, on my first morning after arriving late at night, I made the rounds to see all the flowers that are still blooming everywhere.
Her hydrangeas are gigantic — and I saw others in the area that are just as impressive. Along the side of her driveway, and in big pots, a multitude of plants all grow thickly and complement each other; she doesn’t know the names of them all. She showed Izzy and me this Blackberry Lily, iris domestica, displaying its seeds — something different!
At the airbnb where some of the wedding party stayed, closer to the venue, I sat on a wide porch where giant trees shaded the lawn and tire swing. Pearl’s house has similar ones, though maybe not as tall, that charm me at any time of year.
One day Roger and Izzy, Lora, Pearl and I went to a nature preserve in the middle of wide fields that are being restored to wildness from agricultural land. The asters provided the brightest splashes of color in the midst of the various drying grasses and seed heads, and bees were all over the several species of them.
Most of the Gray-headed Coneflowers (Ratibida pinnata) had faded to simply gray heads, but this one was still going strong:
The temperature had dropped some, rain was coming in. Everything was delicious.
That encounter with native plants of Wisconsin pretty much filled my Nature cup. When I came home, just as at Pearl’s, this first morning I wandered around and around again to see how my own garden had fared in my absence. In spite of all the unfinished projects waiting for me, I felt warmly welcomed. It’s been a little rainy, and cloudy. For some reason my furnace is not turning on, so I gave in and just opened the door to the coolness, and put on a flannel shirt.
I guess the Japanese anemones heard me saying that I plan to move them to a different spot, and they are putting on a display five times bigger than ever in their ten years of life. I’ll have to reconsider… If nothing else, I will at least wait until they finish blooming before I move them. Other things blooming now are bulbine….
The salvia is producing more blooms since I rather tardily trimmed the old ones.
And always, always, the pomegranate bushes are blooming, from spring until frost! Rosemary is flowering right now, too.
I’m finding it quieting to my spirit to be among the plants as they adjust to the changes of fall. I thought the urgency and too-muchness I was feeling leading up to my time away would be waiting for me when I got home, but it seems not.
This humble native succulent is quietly waiting, not demanding more than a few drops of water from time to time. It appreciates a little shade. When I bought it, there was a sign nearby saying it was not ready for transplanting yet. So it was just the plant for me. We will be ready when we’re ready!
