Wednesday, October 27, 2010

October Observations, Fall Findings

In Boise the first few flakes of snow powder the foot hills. Winds blow colorful leaves of deep red and bright yellow from maple, cottonwood, and alder. Frost glazes the morning grass and ice chills morning windows. It's happening. The world is changing. It reminds me, no reveals to me this dynamic movement of the seasons, that there is a rhythm to life that I submit to, revel in, wonder at. This is the fallow season. Everything rests. It invites me to rest. You know that feeling? Spring and Summer say, join me in the dance of life, productivity, harvest. But Fall and Winter say, put on a sweater, sip a cup of Chai tea, and just be. Take Sabbath. Rest. Breath. This fallow season isn't a shallow season. Even the ground needs to meditate, ruminate, cultivate. Do we disturb the glorious natural order of things? With our street lights, busy buildings?

I include two poems for your reflection. The first one, very old, maybe the oldest, about submitting to the seasons and rhythms and light of creation. The second is about delighting in this particular season. Enjoy!

God spoke: "Lights! Come out! 
Shine in Heaven's sky! 
Separate Day from Night. 
Mark seasons and days and years, 
Lights in Heaven's sky to give light to Earth." 
And there it was.
 

God made two big lights, the larger
 to take charge of Day, 

The smaller to be in charge of Night; 
and he made the stars. 
God placed them in the heavenly sky 
to light up Earth 
And oversee Day and Night, 
to separate light and dark. 
God saw that it was good. 
It was evening, it was morning...
         -Author Unknown



Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.


With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight.


The sky
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever. The trees
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
not quite.


What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

  -Wendell Berry




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