"Gold of a ripe oat straw, gold of a southwest moon,
Canada thistle blue and flimmering larkspur blue,
Tomatoes shining in the October sun with red hearts,
Shining five and six in a row on a wooden fence,
Why do you keep wishes on your faces all day long,
Wishes like women with half-forgotten lovers going to new cities?
What is there for you in the birds, the birds, the birds, crying down on the north wind in September, acres of birds spotting the air going south?
Is there something finished? And some new beginning on the way?"
- Carl Sanburg, "Falltime"
Here is a foggy autumn morning adventure with a family that holds a dear place in my heart. Together, we studied plants and river currents, we threw rocks and gathered leaves. Boys dipped bare toes in chilly water and felt cool, smooth rocks underfoot. They were lifted up high in loving parents arms to feel rough, exposed branches and seed pockets and burrs. We breathed in the fresh morning air and gave thanks for this beautiful place and the time we had to spend it together. It was clear this is a place where they all feel like home.
"I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind,
and the old things go, not one lasts."
- Carl Sandburg, "Autumn Movement"