Beneath the Surface (or the Mystery of Advent)

Into the soil's depths, 
in this darkening season,
I planted.
It would feel 
like betrayal to some...
unfair,
heartless,
masochistic maybe,
planting just before 
the earth
hardens.

What ancient alchemy
is this?
What madness?
Foolishly,
determinedly,
clinging to the 
prospect
of life and
a far-off
harvest,
trusting, without proof,
an invisible
promise.

Unseen,
slowly,
beneath the surface,
roots develop
and,
when
it is time,
tiny shoots emerge
into confirmation
that
my waiting was not 
in vain, 
after all.

Advent in the garlic bed.

November Woods

 These are not my words, but a poem I have gone back to every November since 1979, when November meant the beginning of the hot, often dry, season in Botswana.

November Woods

Lovely are the silent woods,

on grey November days.

When the leaves fall red and gold, 

upon the quiet ways.

From massive beech, majestic oak

and birches white and slim,

Like the pillared aisles of a cathedral,

vast and dim.

Drifting mist, like smoking incense,

hangs upon the air.

Along the paths where birds once sang,

the trees stand stripped and bare.

Making Gothic arches with their

branches interlaced,

And window-framing vistas,

richly wrought and finely traced.

It is good to be in such a place,

on such a day.

Problems vanish from the mind

and sorrow steals away.

In the woods of grey November,

silent and austere, 

Nature gives her benediction to

the passing year.

                                                      Patience Strong
                                                     (British Poet)

Letting Go

I am thinking about trees this morning,

about the grace with which they
accept the season,

the what-is that is right now.

They do not wrestle,

(as do I)

with deciding when to relinquish 

that which has served them 

so well, 

but does so
no
longer.

As the cold comes calling,

and the daylengths shorten,

(as I clutch and cling
to the light)

as their metabolism slows
and the autumn winds batter,

they silently
surrender
that which
they
cannot
keep.

And here is their 

sustaining secret.

Their letting go
(so difficult for humans)

provides the blanket
that feeds their roots
and dormant buds

that become the promise
of new growth
when their sap awakens,
and rises
once again,

pushing forth new leaves,
and new life,

into the spring
of the
coming
year.