Side By Side

At this time of year when the light slams shut at the end of a day, summer and autumn are both here. Yesterday the wind came up as I was looking at a wild cherry tree that is home to much bird life near our house and for a few minutes all the leaves that had gone brown/yellow were blown to the ground. Leaving the tree with only its green and me with a reason to deny the coming of winter while supporting that season’s imminent flourish.

This morning’s grass gave me the same sense of the seasons sitting side by side, each at this time of year moving a little to one side while the other has its play. We all know winter will come – and I rejoice in that – but putting it off a bit seems like a good idea.

I’m enjoying the goldenrod, this morning I got very close to the dew on each of its petals. I am particularly grateful for getting close because as a child I remember my mother not being able to get near it, she was so allergic. I love the color and when I see it in the surrounding fields the brightness of it lifts my spirit.

There is old and new in each of us, we are made of many colors, many threads, many seasons to get where we are right now, and still we are new. Right now, forever.



The years hold us together

woven like twill undulating with daily browns

and greys making subtle the infrequent red,

the bright yellow, the hazy magenta.

Soft in our designer’s art we weave

the matrix we are, tie off our seams and send runners

out where new patterns are hoped for. I have pulled

a thread or two, cut a seam too thin and had to go

back, years later with new thread to patch it.

Once I threaded some bright orange wool, newly spun

into the old pattern and found a perfect match.

The blacks of years past melt into the present

soft grey like fields of heather and poppies.

We are intertwined, no form or color bears more

importance than the fabric of our bond.

Today seems a day for earth tones but I find myself

twirling strands of a deep vermillion in my hands.






3 thoughts on “Side By Side

  1. I loved your meditation on the passing of summer–here I just saw the first sycamore leaf fall to the ground; the sycamore is last to leaf out in the spring, at least here on the west coast, first to shed its leaves in the autumn. Also loved the poem and immediately thought of a particular tweed of many colors, but was it something I wore, or something long ago of my mother’s?

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