BURGUNDY LEAF, POETRY FOR AUTUMN

A brief entry today. One poem that I wrote, and a more visual one, by God.

Harvest Time

August sings a turbulent song
That rustles the grass as it tumbles along,
Then harvest comes to lay the fields bare,
And October weeps for the stubble there,
'Til Winter, in mercy, covers it o'er
And holds its breath for the Spring in store,
When Earth drinks joy as storm clouds sigh,
And fields sprout life as old seeds die,
And the head of grain in dust bowed down
Will rise up green, with a spiky crown.



Burgundy, Black, and Gray

THE FALL

The Fall

My head has claimed a gnarled root
for a pillow;
Its rough caresses curve
with the back of my neck.
This upward view is all meandering whorls.
My eyes and I are besotted
like village idiots
drunk on acorns, oak leaves, and mistletoe.
If I rise I will stumble on my thoughts,
unspoken.
I cling to the ground with the small of my
back,
clutch, white-knuckled,
the short blades of grass.

But it is not the earth that quakes,
and I fell long ago.


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WINE RED

It's that time of year again. The leaves, with their brilliant autumn colors are falling, catching my eye, making me reach for my camera. I spotted this one the other day as I was walking through the yard. It had floated down from its perch in the maple and taken a seat in a rusty lawn chair.



Wine on rust




Tiptoe




Ruffles




Textures of Autumn

This was a lovely day. I drove out to Dundee to take care of my granddaughter, and after a brief snuggle on the sofa, catching up on what she'd been up to, and meeting her new "baby", a teensy white stuffed mouse that still looks like cat to me, we chose flowered tights to go with her dress and put those and her shoes on, gathered up a small bucket of toys she wanted to give to her second cousins, had a bite of breakfast, and headed to my Mom's.

I had the singular pleasure of teaching her a few more words. Megan had asked how soon we would be at G-ma's (G-ma=Great Grandma), and I told her we'd be there after we drove through the woods, the forest.

"Nana," she asked from the back seat, "What's a fowest?"

It instantly struck me how many things we take for granted, such as assuming a four-year-old knows what a forest is. I explained it to her, telling her, "Watch for a whole lot of tall trees. We're going to drive right through a whole bunch of trees. That's a forest. That's the woods."

Then I sang a snippet of "Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go," and told her we'd do that, too--go over a river.

"Nana. I don't know what a wiveh is. What's a wiveh?"

Why was that so sweet for me, teaching her those terms? I don't know. Maybe it's just that I love her so much, these small conversations are all precious.

Once we were at Mom's, it was, as usual, pretty pandemonious. (If that isn't already a word, it should be!) It had not registered with my niece, Cat, that we were coming, but she and her three little ones were home, and the four children played happily, running up the stairs to join Mama and me whenever they could "escape", and Mama and I fairly tore through our respective to-do lists--bring in the Christmas gifts I'd picked up for Mama, show her how to change her online user name for her banking account, go through the box of costume jewelry inherited from Auntie Jewel, have a bite to eat, run to the post office--we never do have enough time.

Mama wanted to take me to The Elks thrift store, so I could see what they'd done with their recent upgrade/remodel. It's much cleaner, and more open, but it isn't as much fun as it used to be, when it was packed with racks and bins, and they've raised their prices. Still, I did find three painted metal trays for Mega Blossoms, priced "low enough".

As we walked out, I told Mom, "Give it a little time. It will go back to where it was after awhile."

We did have some down and damp and mildly grubby fun. One thing new is a big bin of clothing they put in the covered alcove outside. Anything in that is free, and Mom and I went through the entire thing, picking out a couple of dozen garments. Some of them are so nice that Mama will wash and/or iron them and take them to the consignment store in McMinnville. Others had pretty buttons to cut off. Oh, and they're put a waterfall rack out, too, such as you'd use for displaying purses. I disassembled it and put it into the back of the car. Store fixtures for free are, like, unheard of.

Then it was back to her house, to gather up Meggie, and head on home. Too short a day, by far, but dear.

Now I'm home. DH is asleep beside me, the political shows are chattering at me while I type. Time to say, Good night.

LEAVES IN THE SUN

Sometimes I am simply awed by the beauty of leaves. I took these pictures on a walk the other day.




Red Leaf





Rhodie on Black Velvet





Fretted and Laced





Thistledown


I did some photoshopping on the rhody, to accentuate the stained glass effect, but not much.

And I guess I should admit that thistles aren't leaves. It was just so gorgeous, like a Vegas dancers elaborate head gear. I took the picture and prayed it would turn out the way I saw it.

When I began this entry, I had a quick flash of memory, back to the day I got my first pair of glasses. I was in eighth grade, and had no real clue how the world looked to other people.

Dad took me to my eye exam, and then a week later took me back to pick up the new glasses, which, of course, I instantly donned.

I will never forget the drive home, with its most stunning revelation: With good eyesight, trees are not just blobs of green, even when seen from a car tooling down the road.

"Dad!" I exclaimed. "The trees have leaves! I mean, you can see them! You can see individual leaves on the trees!"

I wonder if that's when and where my fascination with them began.