Spiraling Home

(One of my small acrylic paintings which came to mind when today's poem got my attention)

I sometimes think I should just reconcile myself to the fact that I will not likely catch up ... ever again. But I keep trying. Anyway, that's another story ... for another day.

Meanwhile ... one of the readers at an evening of poetry mentioned that autumn was her favorite season. At that very moment I felt that we had bonded.

It's my favorite, too ... although the other seasons have certain redeeming aspects, it's autumn that gets my vote.

There's just something about the colors, the quiet that seems to come with the transition ... at least I perceive it as a time of quiet ... of reflection ... such a peaceful interlude.

But let's let the poem speak for itself:

SPIRALING HOME

I have carried with me
Southern Illinois autumns,
fragile and enduring,
all these brittle years.

Still they comfort me,
memories showering down
in the autumn of my life.

Leaves spiraling to feathery
soft landings on woodland soil
waiting patiently for them,
children finally returning
to their beginnings.

© 1995

(originally published in Midwest Poetry Review)

Today's word: enduring