If You Are Quiet You Can Hear the Leaves Fall

Reposting this is becoming an autumn tradition

If you are very quiet
you can hear 
the leaves fall,
following
their twirling, swirling dance
with your ears
as well as your eyes, 
until they come to rest
gently
at your feet.

Amidst the 
gales 
that loosen
their grip,
even amidst the 
tumult
that rages
in your mind, 
if you stop, and
if you will yourself
to listen, 
you will hear their
falling-gently-to-earth whispers, 
as they rustle through
their companions
on the once-in-a-lifetime
descent.

Background noise
fills my mind
right now...
Outer noise of destruction, 
of greed, 
of power wielded wrongly.
Inner voices of fear,
of sadness, 
of outrage, 
of powerlessness...
noise that will surely drown me 
if I let it and
render me deaf, 
even to the Good.

And yet,

in stillness,
I can notice that
which is beyond
myself
and all my thoughts.
Gazing at
the trees of autumn,
standing and swaying
in the winds
that strip their leaves,

Grace breaks through.
I am renewed.

If you are very quiet, you can hear the leaves fall. 
Listen....

Deeply Rooted

 

Windflowers
(because they are deeply rooted,
with a nod to Psalm 1 and St Paul)

Tall
and graceful,
supple dancers
straining heavenward,
though no one tends them,
swaying in the slightest breeze
storm-blown but not broken
in autumn as others fade
cheery pink and yellow 
welcoming faces
hosting hungry
bees.

What Better Way?

What better way to greet the dawn this chilly,
drizzly, breezy morning than to wander,
wrapped in my old blanket,
among the damp salvia and agastache
and asters, blues and purples all,
or to delight in the sunny late black-eyed Susans
and the scarlet of the young blueberries
against the backdrop of slowly-turning autumn
colors of the woods?

How better to welcome the
newness of today 
than listening to the rhythm of the rain,
to the early cries of blue jays,
of crows and cardinals and
white-throated sparrows and the 
melodies of still-present crickets and katydids,
counting down what is left of the lingering
warm days of the year?

We are on the cusp of the Earth's long rest but,
like a child not yet ready for bed,
she prances and twirls,
showing off her extravagant colors and
throwing down her fruit...
abundance free for the taking, 
inviting all who are willing into
her dance of renewal.

This Misty Morning

The fog is a blanket this morning,

shielding me, as I sit on the front porch,
from the curious eyes
of neighbors.
But I can see all that I wish to
of my world, shrouded 
in the mist and
the sounds of wild things.

The chipmunks seem in a determined frenzy, 
hurriedly stocking up on the seeds
that will see them through the winter, and
the landscape is painted with
muted golds and purples, as  
the orange coneflowers, 
the aromatic asters,
and the stalwart salvias bloom on, 
feeding lingering ruby-throats and
the myriad bumblebees still
buzzing through the gardens.

Against the backdrop of cricket's and katydid's
early autumn songs,
the first ruby-crowned kinglet and
purple finch appeared in the
old apple tree, 
the kinglet boldly flitting through
the branches, apparently finding enough
prey to make its foraging worthwhile,
the finch still, cautious and watchful,
carefully weighing the dangers of this 
unfamiliar landscape before
settling in at a feeder, 
eager to dine after its journey from
the north.

I am swathed in gratitude this morning.
All I did was place seeds and small plants
into the ground last spring and they,
of their own accord,
have erupted into bounty.
The Creator, who has  been thusly
providing for all of life in the same manner,
is smiling. 
And I am smiling too on this foggy
October morning, thankful to be
partners with God.