November 2: First snow
Kristen Lindquist
Wind whipping tree boughs
snow on perfect gold leaves
even the cat's anxious
snow on perfect gold leaves
even the cat's anxious
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: autumn
October 26: Clarry Hill
Kristen Lindquist
Spent this afternoon up on Clarry Hill in Union, surrounded by blueberry barrens, watching hawks soaring southward over the coastal mountains.
Kestrel hovering
Burnished fields, wind picking up
That's my heart out there
Posted with BlogsyOctober 25: Greenery
Kristen Lindquist
October 13: Autumn day trip
Kristen Lindquist
A day of sparrows
in fields going to seed
leaves red and falling
in fields going to seed
leaves red and falling
October 10: Color
Kristen Lindquist
October 16: Rustle
Kristen Lindquist
Something rustles
in the leaves. Mist on the river
turns to rain.
in the leaves. Mist on the river
turns to rain.
October 25: Witch-hazel
Kristen Lindquist
On a short lunch break walk through the woods along the river, we came upon a flowering witch-hazel tree. No, this is not some confused tree adversely affected by global climate change. This fall bloomer is right on schedule, its small, yellow-green flowers emerging from the tree's slender, bare branches almost magically, life sprouting from something seemingly dead (or at least dormant). The branches are also ornamented by what must be last year's dried seed pods, little cupped wings.
To come upon this tree in fall, blossoming when everything around it, even its own foliage, is fallen and dying--is perhaps the one, last saving grace of autumn. A hurricane is due next week that will take care of any bright and lingering leaves, and then it's the long, dark slide into winter...
There's no bravery
in these late-blooming flowers--
that's just what they do.
To come upon this tree in fall, blossoming when everything around it, even its own foliage, is fallen and dying--is perhaps the one, last saving grace of autumn. A hurricane is due next week that will take care of any bright and lingering leaves, and then it's the long, dark slide into winter...
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| Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons |
in these late-blooming flowers--
that's just what they do.
October 15: Spray of sparrows
Kristen Lindquist
Sparrows still linger in the fields and along the roadside. As I was driving today, sparrows scattered on either side of my car, their plumage blending perfectly with the sepias, ochres, and umbers of the weedy verge. They're subtly gathering the season's last fruits, the seeds of withering grasses and wildflowers. How close, this time of year, the convergence of beauty and mortality.
As my car passes,
spray of late-season sparrows.
A friend's mother has died.
October 25: Just like Colorado
Kristen Lindquist
Looking out my office window today, a glowing golden poplar caught my eye. I was reminded of autumn aspen groves in Colorado--the almost ethereal sight of round leaves like gold coins shining against a backdrop of many straight pale tree trunks. As I was thinking this, I commented to a co-worker, "Look at that one beautiful tree out there." "I was just thinking that it reminded me of Colorado," she replied. I had to laugh. I guess once you've experienced such a sight, it resonates throughout the rest of your experiences of the natural world.
Western light reflects
on poplar leaves, reminds me
of aspens, things past.
on poplar leaves, reminds me
of aspens, things past.
October 11: Sumac
Kristen Lindquist
As I drove on an errand on this perfect, sunny autumn afternoon, stereo loud, I exclaimed to myself each time I passed a particularly stunning set of trees sporting fall colors. The garish colors matched the volume of my music and my elevated spirits. Roadside stands of sumacs in particular stood out, their long, arched pennants of leaves a deep, rich red.
If you look at the patchwork of colors that makes up a fall forest, you can often tell what species are in the mix. Poplar and birch leaves are yellow coins, maple leaves are yellow-orange-bright red hands, oak leaves are red-brown hands, beech leaves are yellow-brown flags, needles of the tamarack--the only deciduous conifer--form yellow-gold tufts. What at first glance looks like a random riot of color really reflects a certain order of things. But it's easy to overlook, amazed as we are by the breath-taking transformation of our woods, the trees' last hurrah before snow falls.
October's untamed:
red manes and tails of sumacs,
one black crow, roadside.
If you look at the patchwork of colors that makes up a fall forest, you can often tell what species are in the mix. Poplar and birch leaves are yellow coins, maple leaves are yellow-orange-bright red hands, oak leaves are red-brown hands, beech leaves are yellow-brown flags, needles of the tamarack--the only deciduous conifer--form yellow-gold tufts. What at first glance looks like a random riot of color really reflects a certain order of things. But it's easy to overlook, amazed as we are by the breath-taking transformation of our woods, the trees' last hurrah before snow falls.
October's untamed:
red manes and tails of sumacs,
one black crow, roadside.
November 13: Emma's World
Kristen Lindquist
My almost 17-year-old cat Emma, while still going strong in many ways, has serious arthritis in her hindquarters which hampers her movements and makes her walk with a sort of sideways-slipping sway. Because she spends a lot of time lying around with her hind legs sprawled uselessly behind her, the other day my mother jokingly called her "Christina's World" after the famous Andrew Wyeth painting.
So Emma's activities today were cause for pleasure. While she's an indoor cat on principle, now that she's old and slow (though not as slow as you'd think), I sometimes let her hang out in the back yard with me for short, supervised outings. On this beautiful Indian summer afternoon, I set up a tv tray and chair so I could sit in the sun on the back porch and read over the proofs of my husband's second novel. Emma came out with me and explored the leafy back yard under my watchful eye. She tromped around in the leaves for quite a while, sniffing everything, undaunted by her awkward gait. She was more active than I've seen her in a long time. She even chased a twig I dragged past her.
So Emma's activities today were cause for pleasure. While she's an indoor cat on principle, now that she's old and slow (though not as slow as you'd think), I sometimes let her hang out in the back yard with me for short, supervised outings. On this beautiful Indian summer afternoon, I set up a tv tray and chair so I could sit in the sun on the back porch and read over the proofs of my husband's second novel. Emma came out with me and explored the leafy back yard under my watchful eye. She tromped around in the leaves for quite a while, sniffing everything, undaunted by her awkward gait. She was more active than I've seen her in a long time. She even chased a twig I dragged past her.
Later, after some lunch inside, we went back out to the porch to take full advantage of this weather. She curled up tightly on my lap and napped while I read the latest New Yorker and drank a hot mug of chai latte. The river, dark and riffled, rushed past. Piles of leaves skittered and shifted. Chickadees flitted by on their way to the bird feeder. At one point Emma awoke and watched with interest as a neighbor's cat blithely walked through the yard and right past us, then she curled back up under my arm for more sleep. I held her in a close embrace, feeling keenly in those moments the brevity of the time we have left together.
Emma and I have been together since before I met my husband. Childless, I have doted on this strange and often ornery little creature for 16 years. So I was especially grateful for us to be able to share these few hours together, with both of us simply enjoying the moment and each other's company, recharged by the late autumn sunlight.
Old cat, piles of leaves,
last warm days of November--
we share the sunlight.
PS: As I wrote this entry at my desk, Emma came over and indicated she wanted to get into my lap. After I boosted her up, I thought she'd curl up and sleep as usual, but instead she sat upright on my knees, alertly watching the screen the whole time I was typing. I told her I was writing about her, and I like to fool myself into thinking she understood.