Oh, it's still summer and for now? Am not headed back into a classroom, but with many pencils and notebooks are sale, and once in awhile, a crisp leaf to step upon~this seemed a fitting poem for today.
Toward the end of August I begin to dream about fall, how
this place will empty of people, the air will get cold and
leaves begin to turn. Everything will quiet down, everything
will become a skeleton of its summer self. Toward
the end of August I get nostalgic for what's to come, for
that quiet time, time alone, peace and stillness, calm, all
those things the summer doesn't have. The woodshed is
already full, the kindling's in, the last of the garden soon
will be harvested, and then there will be nothing left to do
but watch fall play itself out, the earth freeze, winter come.
~David Budbill
It's such a lovely poem, though my autumns are rarely so quiet and filled with waiting for winter. Even after the end of August, I'm more like a rabid squirrel, tail lashing, running around, screeching. The goal this year is to be the one who is doing absolutely nothing but waiting.
ReplyDeleteSnuggle up in that cosy fog & enjoy some mellowness of being The Unknown.
DeleteLovely poem - I am not looking forward to four months of rain. I wish you, Laurie, were headed to a classroom with bright and cooperative kids and a big salary with benefits.
ReplyDeleteSeattle is so beautiful, but I will never live in that kind of climate again.
DeleteSomething will turn up!