A poem for the autumnal equinox.
Hopkins, Gerard Manley. Hopkins: Poems (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets Series) London: Everyman’s Library, 1995.
Tag: Fall
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About four days from the enchanted stream they came to a part where most of the trees were beeches. They were at first inclined to be cheered by the change, for here there was no undergrowth and the shadow was not so deep. There was a greenish light about them, and in places they could see some distance to either side of the path. Yet the light only showed them endless lines of straight grey trunks like the pillars of some huge twilight hall. There was a breath of air and a noise of wind, but had a sad sound. A few leaves came rustling down to remind them that outside was coming on. Their feet ruffled among the dead leaves of countless other autumns that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the forest.
Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Hobbit or There and Back Again. New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1997. (See pages 128,129)We’ll let Mr. Baggins, Beorn, Thorin, Fili, Balin, Ori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Gloin, Dori, and bumbling Bombur usher us into fall.
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I listened to The Love Movement longingly on a school bus in the early fall in Ohio, where the leaves began to fight against their inevitable departure. By the tree that hung over my bus stop, the leaves slowly began to gather around the tree’s base, as if to say We did our best. We’ll try again next time.
Go Ahead in the Rain, The Source CoverAutumn in literature rolls into Monday.
Hanif Abdurraqib reminisces on listening to A Tribe Called Quest’s The Love Moment in the fall of 98.
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New York in November really does have a special charm to it. The air is clean and crisp, and the leaves on the trees in Central Park are just beginning to turn golden. The sky is so clear you can see forever, and the skyscrapers lavishly reflect the sun’s rays. You feel you can keep walking one block after another without end. Expensive cashmere coats fill the windows at Bergdorf Goodman, and the streets are filled with the delicious smell of roasted pretzels.”
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki MurakamiAutumn in literature day 3?
This passage feels like your jogging through New York alongside Haruki Murakami. What strikes me here is how he contrasts the natural (trees, air, sun) with the man-made (Bergdorf Goodman, skyscrapers, roasted pretzels).
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
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Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 8, “The Deathday Party”Autumn in literature continued. This from J.K. Rowling. All it takes is one mention of a pumpkin and BAM! We’re in autumn.
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So the days slipped away, as each morning dawned bright and fair, and each evening followed cool and clear. But autumn was waning fast; slowly the golden light faded to pale silver, and the lingering leaves fell from the naked trees.
The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2 Chapter 3, “The Ring Goes South”More Autumn in literature. This from J.R.R. Tolkien. Including the detail of seasons in a story helps move time forward and can bring a fantasy world to life.
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As a child I loved the autumn. Leaves fell from a large chestnut tree and gathered into drifts in the garden. I raked them into a pile and tended it carefully, adding fresh armfuls as the weeks went by. Before long, the piles grew large enough to fill several bathtubs. Again and again, I’d leap into the leaves from the low branches of the tree. Once inside, I’d wriggle until I was entirely submerged and lie buried in the rustle, lost in the curious smells.
– My leaf piles were both places to hide and worlds to explore. But as months went by, the piles shrank. It became harder to submerge myself. I investigated, reaching down into the deepest regions of the the heap, pulling out damp handfuls of what looked less and less like leaves, and more and more like soil. Worms started to appear. Were they carrying the soil up into the pile, or the leaves down into the soil? I was never sure. My sense was that the pile of leaves was sinking, but if it was sinking, what was it sinking into? How deep was the soil? What kept the world afloat on this solid sea?
Entangled Life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. pgs 223, 224We’ll let biologist Merlin Sheldrake usher us into autumn.
His book Entangled Life deserves its plaudits.
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Abandoned. Lost. Rot
on cobwebbed doorsteps. Their joy,
crumbles to sadness.
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No season’s cold bites
my flesh as sweet as Autumn’s
does in September.
Floodlights and Goalposts 