November 13th

Saturday poem.

I am tired today (late night last night) and didn’t much of any significance but I love Autumn and in honour of my Lockdown II poems which I blogged every day last November, I decided just to choose a poem for today. Funnily enough nearly a year ago I chose a poem by Mary Oliver so seemed appropriate to choose another one this year. We pruned our golden rod (!) last weekend too. The leaves are really turning here and the forest looks beautiful, even on a gloomy day.

Song for Autumn, Mary Oliver

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

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