I haven't had many words of my own to put here, lately, but here are some borrowed words about my favorite season.
"Between the mutinous brave burning of the leaves
And winter’s covering of our hearts with his deep snow
We are alone: there are no evening birds: we know
The naked moon: the tame stars circle at our eaves."
"Immortal Autumn," Archibald MacLeish
3 comments:
I'm back in Indiana, which unlike Arizona, has an autumn. I always liked it when things cooled off in autumn, and I liked going back to school.
It feels weird to be here. The visit is weird also. I thought we might be keeping watch by my father's hospital bed. That hasn't been the case. He is home and aware. But, we also know each thing may be the last time we do it together.
This visit is more feels more temporary, than even other visits. Temporary, but good.
I guess that's autumn.
I guess, I'm writing about mortal autumn, aren't I?
Autumn here is very different than in the Midwest, but I'd say we do have one. My favorite season both places. The Midwest, of course, had more deciduous trees. Plus we lived IN the woods. I vividly remember driving towards home, out of the flat fields and into the hills near the river, and cresting the hill of Sheets Road and looking down on the woods.
While the Midwest Fall had the color of the leaves, it was also much more moody and melancholy, weather wise. And all those trees going bare.
Here the temperature gets so nice, and its sunny, and the light takes on that magic autumn quality.
Yes, you ended up writing about mortal Autumn. Must be one of the oldest, but still most powerful metaphors. Enjoy the leaves.
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