Posts Tagged ‘fall’

November Rose

November Rose

November Rose


Why of all times did you choose now?

When winter’s knuckles frost the door with every knock?

Was it vanity – the need for all eyes to gaze upon you and no other?

I find it hard to believe, especially with your brother-

of course not as far along but on schedule to arrive still later on the scene


There are no others…

long ago have they left you on your own,

“We wish you well!” they chimed as petals fell


To risk, to brave

to be beauty when all else is gray

to battle

to reach your prime

without warmth

without sun

with cold rains drenching your feet

winds that snap your head back and leave you bobbing

a fighter receiving rapid fire punches

and still standing…


A slight fragrance

last night’s sleet robbed you of essence

no bees to delight in your blossom

yet you choose to share

to be light

so I may delight

in your mystery…

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 I’m not sure exactly when it happened. It was like walking back into a symphony after intermission and the orchestra was gone, the musicians had left and no one was around to tell me the concert had finished.


But there were no instruments save the wind that snapped my jacket open. I wrapped the jacket around myself and held it closed with crossed arms…still listening for the harmonies of crickets and katydids.




An owl’s rhythmic “who…who, whoo” played on wind’s wings so it almost was imperceptible. Above, a faint blue smudge on black sky – the Andromeda Galaxy.


There was no flickering of lights during the intermission, no nudges to return to the performance. Spring and Summer Symphony had left the stage for Fall’s soliloquy – a lonesome phantom unaccompanied by insect voices.


I stood hoping that perhaps I could hear one last voice, one lone, brave soul in this windy tempest – no one.


Cheated, slighted.


No, hurried and harried – I missed hearing the last note. Five months loom before new insect voices will audition to exploding greenery. How could I?


I went back inside and took my jacket off and looked in the mirror. I noticed a gray hair on my scalp. It was as long as the others and had apparently been there growing right alongside the brown. I missed its journey as well. Perhaps for the better; I may have truncated its life had I seen it earlier.


That which I wanted I missed, and that which I missed I no longer wanted…

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While walking along a pier and gazing into the lake, a flash of gold caught my eye on the bottom of the lake some feet off the end of the pier. I walked closer and looked. Nestled in the green growth of water plants was a leaf, a maple leaf to be exact. It was one of the first leaves to drop this fall. It no doubt, landed softly on the surface of the water and danced with the waves for some time. Then, as time passed and the rains began it became soaked….


…it sank.


We’ve all seen leaves floating gently on the surface of a stream, spinning and gliding effortlessly along. They, quite literally, go with the flow. For this reason we think of them as a great metaphor for how we should approach life. Yet, that same leaf,when it stays in the water, gets buffeted by the waves, gets overwhelmed and eventually sinks. It’s not easy to sink a leaf. Try it sometime. I did. You can push it under, put holes in it, abuse it- yet it wants to float and does. The leaf seems, well, invincible, unsinkable if you will.


When the word, “unsinkable” is used, the first thought that comes to mind is the Titanic. It sank too, just like a leaf.


We too, are not unsinkable. We are not indestructible. If buffeted by cares and concerns, if soaked with worries, we will slowly lose our bouyancy – we’ll sink.


We feel there is a need then to make sure we stay on the surface, that we don’t let ourselves get waterlogged by life. There are times when it seems difficult to get out of the stream of life. We can’t, so we can latch onto a rock and let the sun dry us out. But the rains will come and the leaf will once again begin its journey as the waters rise. It will, eventually sink.


But what happens when we sink? A leaf that spent an entire season pondering the water from above, plays upon the surface, and then views the water from within. It sees the tree from the perspective of the water.


“So this is what has filled my veins,” says the leaf looking around as it descends through the crystal coolness.


“You, green plant, this is your world,” says the leaf as it touches the water plant and nestles into its arms, “I was once green too!” and the water plant smiles and welcomes the maple leaf.


“You have traveled much,” says the water plant, “You felt the wind on your face, the sun warmed you, you fell freely through the air, and now you’ve joined me here. Now, rest in my arms and please tell me what it’s like and I will tell you of my life here with the fishes.”


We are creatures of experience, we can let go and latch onto. We can move in three dimensions. Our feet are not anchored to the earth. Our souls are not anchored to our bodies. We can breathe the air and swim with the fishes, we can orbit the earth and go to the moon and beyond. What is sinking?


Sinking is perhaps the wrong phrase as it carries negative connotations-but it needn’t be so. Sinking can be viewed a passive event. An acceptance and willingness to move on. It is, going with the flow but in three dimensions as opposed to two. Yet it somewhat akin to learning to swim- that adventure into the unknown with unproven skills. It is also exhilarating and wonderful. It is a moment to learn anew, to share and to grow. It is a new beginning.

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