In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes*; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?




Some things certainly are. Decline of summer brings many of its beauties down with it. Many flowers are past their prime, fading, dying; the garden is dwindling, the less adventurous leaves are falling now. The heat is no longer so fierce or constant. . . .

But the sunshine is more golden, the autumn flowers lift shining faces to it, and the many leaves that remain for the culmination of autumn change their colours to match its flame. Yes, parts are fading, declining, but a great deal rises to meet our reluctance at summer's departure, filling up our stores of memory and warmth. The sky turns bluer than I've seen it all year long, the sun is less hot but more brilliant, the greens look greener, and the beauties sharpen just like the air.
The hills in the river valley turn all shades of red, burnt orange, brown and gold with the sumac, maples and the rest;
geese fly south over ripened fields and late hayers. Monarchs congregate on our branches, flutter about the eaves of the grove, and prepare for migration. Apples ripen, firm and tart, destined for pies. Butternut squashes are ready to steam and mash--one of my very favorites. Our garden didn't produce enough tomatoes to can this year, but some people are making salsa and other delicious things. We have more potatoes this year though!

Today we're having a steady deluge of rain with plenty of thunder and a blank sky. The rain is pattering from the gutters , the rumbling is nearly constant; there are sounds of practicing piano, and sometimes Mozart vespers. Also, the relative silence of studying: clicking of a highlighter cap, speed-drill timers, mathematical chanting, and reading aloud from our church history book about Boniface. He was a bold missionary for Christ in Geismar, destroying the Oak of Thor, and preaching that we must worship only Christ. God used him in many other places, and he was finally martyred in 754 AD.

Inspired by a couple of new books I recieved, I made a 'fairy house' in the backyard with calendula flowers, mulberry leaves, mossy sticks and a great deal of intricate bark.

1 comment:

Katya said...

Lovely. Words, pictures.
I am loving these autumn days.
Can't wait to see your fairy-houses books.