How many of you caught a glimpse at the glorious harvest moon with it’s crimson beauty aflame last Friday, while the moon was still close to the horizon? It’s easy to miss it with the busy-ness of our lives.
How many of you have taken a moment to walk in silence in the parks and notice the subtle reminders in light and color of the changing seasons and the preciousness of now? The beauty of nature around us compels us to stop, to breathe, and to notice.
I offer to you the wisdom of Mary Oliver and her poem entitled Fall Song:
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.