under the cedars BX creek washes a very tiny world. we step carefully, leaving no footprints, witness to our passing. like ants, we walk our pointless paths, insignificant in many ways, and like to think ourselves so important. but we are not. a lttle water washes rounded rocks, the cedars know. that water is essential. we need it too, cleansing and refreshing, some kindness to our souls.
Solitary Skeleton under all the conifers, i see a lonely skeleton, and understand part of what i see. i myself have a solitary aspect. my bones carry my flesh; my body carries me. a day will come, no doubt, when i too, am stripped to bone, like a mushroom, which i still don't understand in full detail. and though we all want company, my day will come: i will be solitary, and go meet the beautiful light.
black is white, they want to tell me. i won't make that mistake really soon. but they count on me and you, to believe the nonsense that they spew. angry at us when we won't swallow all the muck, in which they wallow. i might like a soapbox too, to stand on and shout out what's true. black is black and white is white, may they always meet! wrong is wrong; right is right, we must be careful. darkness may swallow up the light. when we see the shadows coming close, shout danger, danger, danger! push those shadows back to dusty corners in evil minds.
once in october i stopped to look at ripening corn, saw the last of the chicory, growing on the edge of the field. faded beauty, beyond summer, a reminder of summer chicory, maybe a weed, maybe a flavour enhancer, definitely beautiful flowers on ragged stems. weed or flower? (a question: how can i be classified?)
october was no surprise. see it happen! like last time as i passed, goat on a grassy roof, we were more than a bit surprised. no tears needed rain is predicted, time passes so slowly, unnoticed. october's gone; december's around an icy corner. it goes right by: a peapod boat in a trickle of a stream. time.time.time
autumn rains help to bring winter to our world. we need our winter quiet letting things rest, sleeping until the world precesses and warms. we bide our time, remembering fall leaf colours. it gets us through the winter cold, and darkness.
a little rain has never hurt me much. always I've dried out and carried on. i am not safe from drowning, but i have not done that yet. history may guide us if we're wise enough. we know it isn't a perfect guide, but it can help save us from repeating serious errors . rain washes the windows, as i look out this cold, damp autumn day. a little rain has never hurt me much.
one more miracle, a red maple tree in the rain... our autumn has such vibrance it cheers us once again. our days are shorter than they were. it's colder every day. some people want the summer back at least that's what they say soon snow will fall and cover all and everything we see. a cold white world so icy... oh, we'll just skate and ski.
sunflowers bow to autumn ripening just in time for little birds celebrating ripe sunflowers. winds ring our big wind chime. i look out the window watching those birds, and see them thrown about by the wind like leaves dancing with a breeze. the sunflower's gone now, harvested and dry. little birds have moved on; little wings will fly.
crushed and broken, somehow beautiful, its function passed. providing nutrients today, and on into tomorrow and tomorrow. this maple leaf will one day be forgotten and so will i. my fathers do not stand tall anymore. though, in their day, they struggled sometimes bravely such is life and living. something was beautiful, although no memories remain. a time shall surely come, when i am nothing more: a fuzzy memory, and someone may be remembering the fallen.