Piecemeal the summer dies;
At the field’s edge a daisy lives alone;
A last shawl of burning lies
On a gray field-stone.
~Richard Wilbur from “Exeunt”
Tag: transition
Unexpected Sharpness
Then summer fades and passes and October comes.
We’ll smell smoke then,
and feel an unexpected sharpness,
a thrill of nervousness,
swift elation,
a sense of sadness and departure.
~ Thomas Wolfe
Stored in the Heart
Whatever he needs, he has or doesn’t
have by now.
Whatever the world is going to do to him
it has started to do…Â
…Whatever is
stored in his heart, he can use, now.
Whatever he has laid up in his mind
he can call on. What he does not have
he can lack…
…Whatever his exuberant soul
can do for him, it is doing right now…
…Everything that’s been placed in him will come out, now, the contents of a trunk
unpacked and lined up on a bunk in the underpine light.
~Sharon Olds from “The Summer-Camp Bus Pulls Away from the Curb”
This is the season for graduations, when children move into the adult world and don’t look back.
As a parent, as an educator, as a mentor, as a college health physician witnessing this transition, I can’t help but be wistful about what I left undone and unsaid.  In their moments of vulnerability, did I pack enough love into that bleeding heart so he or she can pull it out when it is most needed?
With our three children traveling all over the world over the last few weeks, stretching way beyond the fenced perimeter of our little farm, I have trusted they prepared themselves well.
I know what is stored in their hearts because I helped them pack.  It is where they can still find me if need be.
The Turning Point
Desire change. Be enthusiastic for that flame Â
in which a thing escapes your graspÂ
while it makes a glorious display of transformation.Â
That designing Spirit, the master mind of all things on earthÂ
loves nothing so much in the sweeping movement of the danceÂ
as the turning point.
~Rainer Maria Rilke
~Rainer Maria Rilke
I do not like change; I am usually dragged kicking and screaming through every transition into something new and unfamiliar. Even a haircut can be traumatic. I’m not into retail therapy because the tried and true in my closet is just fine, thank you very much. A new food whose name I can’t pronounce (what exactly is quinoa anyway?) becomes highly suspect. The disappearance of a favorite coffee from the store is cause for mourning.
Most people would call it “stuck in a rut.”
I prefer to think of it as “constancy” in an unstable world.
I do know better though. I acknowledge every moment is transformational, nothing remains as it is, all is changing so quickly I can’t keep it in my grasp, hard as I try.
It is time I give myself over to the dance of life, allowing myself to be dipped and whirled about, spun dizzy, carried by the momentum of the Spirit.
Every day is a turning point that I can and will navigate despite my reticence; “like Ginger Rogers who does everything Fred Astaire does, but backwards and in high heels” (Bob Thaves).
Except for the part about high heels.
Changing Clothes
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.
Henry Beston
The change of seasons this week offered no gradual transition to ease us gently into autumn– three months of daily sun and balmy temperatures became gray, rainy, windy, stormy cuddle-down cold overnight.  It is a terrible shock to our physiology as well as our wardrobe. Sweaters and jackets that have not seen the light of day for months are suddenly front and center in the closet. Sandals are shoved way to the back once again. Only last week I was still sneaking out to the barn to do morning chores in my pajamas and slippers but now am trussed up in my Carhartts, gloves and muck boots.
Tough as it is reconcile to shorter days and chilly temperatures, I do appreciate the absolute drama of it all. Golden leaves dance up and down in the gusts, as if searching for the exactly perfect landing and forever resting spot. The fallen walnuts inside their round green husks are scattered everywhere underfoot well hidden among the leaves, making navigating are yard’s pathways hazardous, especially in the dark. I’ve never been good at walking on marbles and these are ping pong ball size marbles.
So all bundled up I pick my way carefully to the barn, wanting not to be embarrassed by falling flat on my face and or by watching trees stripped naked right before my eyes.  As they unceremoniously shed their leafy coats to reveal their skinny skeletons, I’m piling on layers on over my…. layers.
I’m treading on their sacred leavings, much like inadvertently walking across poorly marked graves at a cemetery.  It is truly holy ground.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn
~John Muir
Barnstorming 