In Principio

Standing on the pitcher’s mound in an
Empty stadium as if it were the
Axis mundi, she lifts the baseball like a
Sacrifice to the gods.
Eve of ten billion nights
Pitches the ball;
The game begins.
The players appear.
The arena is packed.
Let there be Life.
Let there be Death.
Let there be the Death-life of the masses
Content to cheer behind the chain-link
In the comfort-desperation of the stands,
To watch the Living play on that
Lush verdant field.
The batter may strike out, yet, in that moment,
He feels the wood of the bat in his dusted hands,
The rush of blood in his neck, the trickle
Of sweat on his temples,
The exhilaration of the swing,
And there, in a micro-second, he
Senses his own genesis.

Early Autumn Colors

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" --John Keats

It has only just started. The white-ash tree in front of our house has survived the white-ash bore that has killed so many of its kind here in Michigan and it is the first to turn colors in the fall. It usually comes out in a blazing yellow, though some years it has worn the most becoming shade of peach.

The maples are still mostly green but some have adorned themselves with a splash of bright red. It is not yet peak season, here in Michigan, but it is lovely. It was cold last week, yet it has warmed up this weekend to give us something of an Indian Summer.

Autumn comes and goes but the splendor of it is not lost on me, especially since the last one I saw was three years ago this October when I left for my teaching job in the Emirates. As much as I may despise winter that follows it, the fall is truly lovely and in America we have such wonderful traditions that involve the fall: visits to the orchards, pumpkin pie, apple cider, walks in the woods under the colorful canopy of turning leaves and stories--especially stories! (I'll be recording my paraphrase of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow to listen to here--not at all related to the Tim Burton version, but the real honest to goodness Washington Irving version. I will do this at a later date and it will be in two parts.) Other stories I love at this time of the year are, of course, Little Orphan Annie, by James Wibcome Riley; The Halloween Tree, by Ray Bradbury--oh, and I just read a really good one by Neil Gaimon called, The Graveyard book. There are many, many more. Oh and yes, let's not forget to watch Tim Burton's A Nightmare Before Christmas which I have always enjoyed along with his Corpse Bride.

Besides Halloween, I love the cool fresh air and the sweet melancholy that seems to be born on the first smell of wood smoke from fire places and in the slant of light and in the sound of the rustle of leaves that crunch underfoot--and I don't know what it is about the season that fills me with memories of my childhood and a sense of loss and longing. It is a powerful season and full of magic, mystery and wonder. And it is not hard to imagine--even feel-- the grief of Demeter roaming the earth looking for her daughter who was taken into the underworld--she would not, nor ever be consoled for that loss and so she withholds her blessing and the world grows dark and nothing will grow. Demeter is in the air and in the harvest and in the chill that goes up your spine.

Well, I'll leave you, dear reader, for now. I think I'll have a cup of hot apple cider with Cinnamon, a bit of cloves, and sweetened with a touch of brown sugar. Enjoy the pictures--especially my friends in the Middle East, some of whom have never seen an autumn.

Tacking Life

We are dandelion seeds on the wind
...Thinking we have no control
......Few there are indeed
.........Who can learn to tack the wind
............Persist--even progress
...............Against their DNA
..................Against the lies of their environment

And take themselves where they want to go