October 5, 2018 - The Lesson of the Foliage

Not to be outdone by any of the Spring or Summer flowers, the trees patiently wait and save their magic until the former are exhausted.  Only then do they show their true colors, and the flowers, now exhausted and weary, bow their heads in defeat.  They tell themselves that next year will be different, that next year they will ration their beauty, but they lie.

Tree magic.

That burst of energy and power the trees had when they exploded with green in the Spring now ebbs and finally is cut off.  Power shared is power lost, after all, and it is time to think inward.  It is time to hunker down and conserve what energy is left.  The trees complain and say that they are completely spent, that they have nothing more to give, but they lie.

It is a game each plays of feigning inferiority while all along beating their chests in a smug bravado.  And why shouldn’t they?  If you’ve got it, flaunt it.  Beauty is fleeting, so seize the day and enjoy what you have while you have it.  Then when you are passed over as being completely spent and useless, shine with the hidden brilliance you hoarded away for just such an occasion.  This is the lesson of the foliage.

October 2, 2018 - The Old Stump

There is not much left to this old tree stump.  I visit it every year to see how its demise is coming along.  “I am dying very well,” it says to me whenever I ask.  And this is, of course, true.  Tree stumps are incapable of lying.  All around it fall the brightly colored leaves full of last-minute joy, and the moss grows at the base, living among dead things.

Dying well.

I am reminded of how much we need this contrast of life and death.  The season of plenty gave us too much plenty.  At first we rejoiced.  Then we relaxed.  Finally, we languished.  Is this all there is?  We did not even see how full our plates were anymore.  How can you know fullness if you do not know emptiness?

But the Sun King has weakened once again, falling back to the West.  His fingers do not stretch as far as they used to, and he no longer burns us in chastisement for our lazy entitlement.  Soon, he will be all but gone.  I have heard the drums in the forest.  They are coming for him.

Meanwhile, the squirrels scurry frantically, storing away as much food as possible.  They at least can appreciate what they have.  Soon we, too, will be full of appreciation—but for what we have lost, not for what we have now.  Winter looms in the near distance, another obstacle on the path.  Another season of emptiness to give us blessed comparison and renew our hope through death.  It occurs to me that perhaps there are no obstacles on the path after all.  Perhaps the obstacles are the path.

October 1, 2018 - Autumn Party

AUTUMN PARTY

we will go to the party

I will wear my red dress

you will wear your green suit

and we will dance and dance

a haunting lilt in a brilliant hall

of spectacular beauty

and when it is over

they will tear down the pretty curtains

and remove the fine crystal

and piece by piece

they will dismantle the hall

and it will be as if it never was

as if there were no party at all

as if we had not laughed and danced

as if there were no red dress

bleak and cold and grey

chanting dirges of death

weighted down by the darkness

forlorn and forsaken

but it will not matter

because we cannot be touched

because in our hearts

we have already been to the party

with the red dress

and we know differently.