duhpursuit

These are always the most beautiful days…
while everything holds its last,
before the stems stiffen and drop their sails,
before the snow drifts build and bury all alike.

The small fruits of shrubs and trees have yet to harden and fall,
a bouquet unwrapped and scattered before the vase.

Already the garden leans,
bearing down
under the weight of the few
we manage to harvest before the frost,
before the flies, the worms, devoted to their tides,
drop dead and sodden,
dampening the darkened loam,
building, beneath the belly of sky,
another grain of sand.

Before the sun, still, breaks their trembling and burns
above a rigid sheet of ice, the silent surface,
the whipping crack of dawn.

But now the earth still splits, still seams.
Now the blooms break open.
Easily as ships cut through rain.

These are always the most beautiful days.
Still promises to keep. Still miles to go before we sleep.

Already my heart and mind are wholly devoted to fall. I am hopelessly infatuated with the smells of baked apples, cinnamon, pumpkin, and cloves. With the warm, comforting smells of oven-baked dishes–roasted potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole. It’s not my stomach I want to fill, it’s my senses. The aromas and textures of a home preparing for cold weather. The desire to make things tidy and clean. To smooth down the corners, the linens, the countertops. To wrap myself in blankets while a cool breeze drifts through the open window, a good book and a sleeping cat, a drowsy husband.

These are always the most beautiful days. While everything holds its last for just a few more moments, still strong on the limb before the trembling starts, before the rigid stems crisp and drop their sails.

Already the garden leans under the weight of late season fruit, bearing down to return to the soil. We manage to harvest a few before they begin to rot or house insects who are also making preparations. Also devoted to the tides that will sweep them into the earth dampening the darkened loam, the slowly shifting grains of sand.

These are always the most beautiful days. When the sun still warms the roots. Buds burst open, glazed with an unexpected rain. Close by neighbors are still shrouded in green. The earth still splits, still seams easily enough, a bouquet unwrapped and scattered before the vase. The small fruits of shrubs and trees have yet to harden and fall. Still promises to keep. Still miles to go before they sleep.

I keep finding myself in the middle of singing these on the way to work, making coffee, waltzing the floors barefoot with the windows open and a cool breeze. Have I mentioned I love this time of year?

Danny Boy, by the Muppets

Nature Boy.

Debbie Reynolds, A Very Special Kind of Love? (this is the one I keep humming, but I have no idea if this is the right song title or not)

Put A Little Love in Your Heart, Annie Lennox and Al Green

Dusty Springfield, What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?

Billie Holiday, I’ll Be Seeing You

Etta James, Sunday Kind of Love

His Eye is on the Sparrow, Lauryn Hill

Joyful, Joyful, –Sister Act 2 (the rap is freakin’ hilarious)

Do You Want to Know a Secret, The Beatles

Also–I have an itching to watch these movies for the umpteenth time:

• Legend
• Labyrinth
• Paper Moon
• Dark Crystal
• Flight of the Navigator
• Clash of the Titans
• Lady Hawk
• Dune

It’s beautiful here. One of those afternoons when summer is making it’s way into something else, and the rain is dotting the pavement. You can open the windows and let down all your airs, lean into the bread and listen to the crickets, plan soups in your mind and think of autumn–the harvest already at work in your heart.