Tag: October

A Peculiarly Genial Light

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I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.
There is no season when such pleasant
and sunny spots may be lighted on,
and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings,
as now in October.
The sunshine is peculiarly genial;
and in sheltered places,
as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house,
one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine.
It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature.
And the green grass strewn with a few withered leaves looks the more green and beautiful for them.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne from The American Notebooks

After the keen still days of September,
the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth…
The maple tree in front of the doorstep
burned like a gigantic red torch.
The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze.
The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels,
emerald and topaz and garnet.
Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her…
In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.
~Elizabeth George Speare from The Witch of Blackbird Pond 

If I were a month,
I would choose to be October:
bathed in a “peculiarly genial” and friendly light.
A kindly and homely nature,
slowly withering, yet still crisp,
with mild temperature and modest temperament
despite a drenching rain and wind storm or two,
once in a while foggy.

Most of all,
I would cherish my flashes of burnt umber
as I reluctantly relinquish the light.

text by Mechthild of Magdeburg
Effortlessly, Love flows from God into man,
Like a bird who rivers the air without moving her wings.
Thus we move in His world one in body and soul,
Though outwardly separate in form.
As the Source strikes the note, humanity sings —
The Holy Spirit is our harpist, and all strings
Which are touched in love must sound.

The Reason for October

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I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun
~W.S. Merwin from “The Love of October” from Migration: New & Selected Poems, 2005

Each leaf is beautifully unique,
one of a kind, each shaped and hued differently —
except those more tattered than others,
bespeaking the harshness of
their short existence when
all life surrounding them
seems at risk of being destroyed.

At the end of their allotted life span
they return to the earth from which they came.
And the Creator-God is pleased.
His creations have served the purpose
for which He created them.
Now, they will enrich the soil,
each leaving its own special contribution
toward the next generation
where differences no longer matter.
The unseen birthing and dying mystery continues….
~Alice La Chapelle, in a comment

The wind gusts through shedding branches
stripping them bare,
carrying the leaves
far away, piling up a diverse gathering
they have never known before –
chestnut, cherry, birch, walnut, apple, katsura,
maple, parrotia, pear, oak, poplar, dogwood –
suddenly all sharing the same fate and grave,
each wearing a color of its own,
soon to blend with the others
as all slowly melt to brown.

There is lightness in the letting go,
for reasons none of us knows.

Attempting to Stopper Time

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…the golden hour of the clock of the year.
Everything that can run to fruit has already done so:
round apples, oval plums, bottom-heavy pears,
black walnuts and hickory nuts annealed in their shells,
the woodchuck with his overcoat of fat.
Flowers that were once bright as a box of crayons
are now seed heads and thistle down.
All the feathery grasses shine in the slanted light.
It’s time to bring in the lawn chairs and wind chimes,
time to draw the drapes against the wind,
time to hunker down.
Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup,
but nothing can stopper time.
No way to seal it in wax or amber;
it slides though our hands like a rope of silk.
At night, the moon’s restless searchlight sweeps across the sky.
~Barbara Crooker “And Now it’s October” from Small Rain.

I do try to stopper time.

I try every day on this page,
not to suspend time or render it frozen,
but like flowers and fruit that wither,
I want to preserve these moments –
a few harvested words and pictures
to sample some chilly day.

I offer it up to you now,
a bit of fragrance,
to sip of its sweetness
as it glows, luminous in the bottle.

Let’s share.
Leave it unstoppered.
The passage of time
is meant to be preserved this way.

photo by Josh Scholten

October Warmth

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After the keen still days of September, 
the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth…
The maple tree in front of the doorstep
burned like a gigantic red torch. 
The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. 
The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, 
emerald and topaz and garnet. 
Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her…
In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.
~Elizabeth George Speare from The Witch of Blackbird Pond

On an early October morning,
gray clouds lay heavy and unrelenting
hovering low over the eastern hills,
when a moment’s light snuck out from under the covers,
throwing back the blankets
to glow over the mountain.

Only a minute of unexpected light underneath the gray,
gone in a heartbeat
(as are we) yet
O!  the glory when we too are luminous.

The Month of Departure

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October is nature’s funeral month.
Nature glories in death more than in life.
The month of departure is more beautiful
than the month of coming –
October than May.

Every green thing
loves to die in bright colors.
~Henry Ward Beecher

I don’t know…
I myself feel pretty drab these days, gray and fading,
with ripples and wrinkles,
more fluff than firm.
I’m reminded to hang on to an October state of mind:
go for raucous color rather than somber funereal attire,
so when it is time to take my leave, and I want to take my time –
I go brightly, in joyous celebration of what has been~~
and knowing, without any doubt, the colors are stunning
where I’m heading when I wander down the road a piece.

Days of Special Radiance

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Now over everything the autumn light is thrown
And every line is sharp and every leaf is clear,
Now without density or weight the airy sun
Sits in the flaming boughs, an innocent fire
That shines but does not burn nor wither.
The leaves, light-penetrated, change their essence,
Take on the gold transparence of the weather,
Are touched by death, then by light’s holy presence.

So we, first touched by death, were changed in essence,
As if grief grew transparent and turned to airy gold
And we were given days of special radiance,
Light-brimmed, light-shaken, and with love so filled
It seemed the heartbeat of the world was in our blood,
And when we stood together, love was everywhere,
And no exchange was needed, if exchange we could
The blessedness of sunlight poised on air.
~May Sarton “Poem in Autumn”

The brightness of the day becomes
the brightness of the night;
the fire becomes the mirror.

My friend the earth is bitter; I think
sunlight has failed her.
Bitter or weary, it is hard to say.
Between herself and the sun,
something has ended.

She wants, now, to be left alone;
I think we must give upturning to her for affirmation.
Above the fields, above the roofs of the village houses,
the brilliance that made all life possible
becomes the cold stars.

Lie still and watch: they give nothing but ask nothing.
From within the earth’s bitter disgrace,
coldness and barrenness
my friend the moon rises:
she is beautiful tonight,
but when is she not beautiful?
~Louise Glück from “October”

photo by Ben Gibson

This October Sabbath morning,
gray clouds lie heavy and unrelenting,
hovering low over the eastern hills.

A moment’s light snuck out from under the covers,
throwing back the blankets
to glow golden over the valley.

Only a minute of unexpected light underneath the gray,
then gone in a heartbeat (as are we) – yet –
O!  the Glory when we shine luminous together.

The Quivering Air of October

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I remember it
as October days are always remembered,
cloudless, maple-flavored,
the air gold and so clean it quivers.
~Leif Enger in Peace Like a River

I’m not someone who switches to pumpkin-spice-flavored anything in October.

No need, no need.
The air itself tastes like autumn, quivering on my tongue.

Instead I revel in the gold and bronze tint to the sky,
the cinnamon nutmeg dusting of the trees,
the heavy sprinkling of hanging dew drops,
the crisp and shivery breezes.

Soon the ground will be frost instead of dust
and leaves a crunchy carpet rather than shady veil.

October is a much-needed change,
keeping us fresh,
reminding us to breathe deeply when life feels shallow,
and remembering we have been immersed
in the pumpkin-spice of a new day we have never lived before.

The Chance of One Sweet Last Hour

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Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,
Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun
Immeasurably far; the waters run
Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways
With gold of elms and birches from the maze
Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,
Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,
The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,
And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance
Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,
And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance
The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil
Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,
Steals back alone for one more song and dance.
~Helen Hunt Jackson “October”


And how like a field is the whole sky now
that the maples have shed their leaves, too.
It makes us believers—stationed in groups,
leaning on rakes, looking into space. We rub blisters
over billows of leaf smoke. Or stand alone,
bagging gold for the cold days to come.
~David Baker from “Neighbors in October”

A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded…
~T.E. Hulme from “Autumn”

We make a dwelling in the evening air, 
In which being there together is enough.
~Wallace Stevens from "Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour"

No other time of year is quite like the end of October. God prepares us for the long haul of winter gray by giving us one last sweet hour of golden memories to bag up as keepsakes for the dark cold nights ahead.

The air is now pristine after a wind and rain storm yesterday. I am finally seeing the golden glow of October.

As Robert Frost wrote, “nothing gold can stay” so I bid this gilded air goodbye for another year. I nod in recognition at the rising moon and wave at bare branches dancing leafless in the wind and celebrate the last sweet hours of October.

It’s now time to dwell together, huddled and cuddled, in the chill of the autumn evening air.

A Love for Lightness

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…I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows…

my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun
~W. S. Merwin from “The Love of October”

A wind gusts through shedding branches
stripping them bare
and carrying the leaves to fields
far away, to a diverse gathering
they have never known before:
chestnut, cherry, birch, walnut, apple, alder,
maple, parrotia, pear, oak, poplar, cottonwood
suddenly all sharing the same fate and grave,
each wearing a color of its own,
falling, falling, soon to blend with others.

There is an exquisite lightness in letting go
of all that feels familiar and safe,
for reasons none of us can actually comprehend.

Can’t help “falling” in love and falling in leaf…

A Decade of October Dawns

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It is the exquisite and early hour,
The sudden sunrise reddens the sky.
Through the autumn mist
The garden leaves fall.

Their fall is slow. We can follow them
With our eyes and recognize
The oak by its leaf of copper,
The maple by its leaf of blood.

The last ones, the most rusty
Fall from the bare branches,
But it’s not winter yet.

A fair light sprinkles down on
Nature and in the whole rosy sky
You’d think it was snowing gold.
~François Coppée “October Morning”

This is a compilation of October sunrises from over the past decade, most taken from the same spot in our farm’s backyard. Twice a year, in early October and late May, we may be blessed to see the sun cast a mountain shadow across the clouds in the sky.

October dawns are sometimes flashy and flamboyant, sometimes subtle and somber, but always a harbinger of a time of quiet and reflection.

This year’s mornings are sadly smoky; we raise prayers for a cleansing rain to come soon. We need more than falling leaves to rain down like golden snowflakes. We need precious water drops to wash away all that has become ashen and renew the parched and dying.