spots that had that typical look of early autumn - green leaves, yellowing fields, and light at a sharper angle than you see in mid-summer. It was so beautiful. It reminded me, out of the blue, of a poem by Sara Teasdale. Indian Summer. I love this poem - particularly those last two lines. They create such a compelling image. And here it is for you to read:
Indian Summer
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer
Shadowy fields that are senseless but full of singing.
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples
the wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn and broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heartless.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction
While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
- Sara Teasdale - from Rivers to the Sea
2 comments:
I also love the autumn, as things that have been patiently waiting for the shorter days to arrive are finally coming to fruition, such as the 4-o'clocks, chysanthemums and tomatoes. This is the time of culmination of things. If that is truly so, you are guaranteed a successful outcome. I have never known anyone who has so broadly and deeply planted their seed of kindness and caring. You have always been there for those who need support. You visit those in need, not only those close to you, but also those whom you know would benefit from your contact. You are an angel on earth and I can only believe that God will see you through this and restore you in his fullness.
How unbelievably kind. Thank you so much for this.
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