Walnut Wisdom

Today, spring ... almost (officially). Tomorrow, autumn. Well, not really, but time does fly.

Thank goodness, it doesn't really go zooming by that fast, though it sometimes seems that it does.

You're trying to pull things together, to get yourself organized to face the day ... and you suddenly remember one other task that must be done now ... right now.

Oh, that's when time seems to go into supersonic mode.

But relax now. It's not really time for the random twirling of leaves from the walnut tree ... and other signs of autumn. There's lots of spring ahead of us, then summer ... and then autumn.

Meanwhile, the poem:

WALNUT WISDOM

The black walnut's
seething green leaves,
steeping all summer
in the raging sun,
are turning yellow,
randomly twirling
to earth, the leaden
thumps of fallen
fruit providing
an uneven cadence
on the long bridge
of sunny afternoons.

Bruised and smashed,
their juicy hulls
draw back from those
dark interiors where
their secrets lie,
awaiting squirrels,
whack of a hammer,
the outside chance
of becoming a tree.

This, the walnut
knows, is autumn’s
beginning, a time
of payoffs, endings,
another slow turn
of the wheel.
© 2002
(originally published in Potomac Review)

Today's word: twirling