Category: Autumn 2024

Autumn whispers in, dips her brush
in the gold of the afternoon sun,
and paints swaths of the bean field with its hue.
From the field’s far corner, a single maple
flashes crimson hints of things to come
through air alive with cricket song
and the distant cries of migrating geese
heading south.

Sometimes, when I stop to look, the beauty
that surrounds me is almost more I can bear.
Take, for example, these wild asters,
strewn in such abundance at the edges
of the field that their very numbers
make them seem commonplace.
And yet, what subtle hues their tiny petals wear;
how ornate their decorated centers,
how perfect the choreography of their opening,
one by one by one, until the entire pathway
sings with their delicate song.
Oh, again I say, please, let me never
take such gifts for granted.

I hereby grant you the right and duty
to see the world’s beauty.

May it bring you to your knees
in humility and joy.

The air clears. The clouds thin. The light reappears.
Suddenly the world is fresh again and glistening,
and all you want to do is breathe it in
until your own clouds dissolve,
until you, too, are filled with light
and joy, glistening with peace.

The subtlety is gone now. Color
sweeps in at a dizzying speed,
its thrust building by the hour.
Leaf, bough, and tree suddenly
don their scarlets and golds.
Autumn knows.
The joy is in the momentum.

Some moments
– perhaps this very one; is it? –
make all the rest of them worth it
and blanket the past with peace.
Whisper it to yourself: Yes.

You can’t go from emerald to crimson overnight.
No great work happens in the blink of an eye.
First you need a vision: Let us paint these woods
in autumn hues. Then you may begin.
And once you have begun, you must keep on.
A swath of red here, a bit of gold there, some orange,
a touch of yellow. Keep on. Hour by hour,
trusting, singing work’s joy, knowing your vision
was born in the Yes and that the Yes
will guide your hand, unfailingly.

Deep in the core of your heart
lives a knowing, a Something
surer than eye or word can tell,
a fixed reality, transcending
all illusion. Trust in that,
and flow in its grace.

Petal by petal, life’s flower unfolds,
a mystery, unfathomable, its beginnings
unknown, its destination the source
of numberless words and whisperings
swept across the centuries. Choose
whatever your heart sings as your guide,
for it knows truths beyond what words
can tell. Trust what feels most loving.
The moments are here for your experiencing.
Drink of their nourishment deeply
and with joy, opening yourself
petal by wondrous petal.

The leaves fall to the creek floor
like careless drops from the brush of some artist.
splattering the rocks with rust and bronze,
pastel yellow and shades of green. They and the creek
make a painting of their own. But this is no accident.
There’s nothing careless here. It took eons
to create this scene, time beyond measure.
All for this moment, this one breath of a day,
when the light and the air were just so,
and it was early September.