First of Fall

The corn field is all brown stubble; the corn has been gathered.  The pink and yellow cotton blossoms are turning into bolls.  Acorns are pinging on the tin roof over the porch, and the magnolia pods are bursting with red seeds.  The poke berries are purple, reminding me of the days when we used to mash them and make our own ink.  Spider webs are everywhere, as their spinners seek that last bit of nourishment.  Bees are foraging on goldenrod, swamp sunflowers, and chives gone to flower.  Butterflies have emerged from their cocoons and are getting ready to fly away or leave their eggs to over-winter. The hummingbirds have already left.  Some of the chickens are molting.  The horse and dog and goats have not put on their winter coats but they will soon.  

At Yale, we sang the alma mater with this line:  “The seasons come, the seasons go. The earth is green or white with snow.”  I feel the season going, the season of summer with its golden corn and wildflowers and green fields.  There is a touch a fall in the air when I walk out into the morning.  The seasons come, the seasons go. 

Sunday Morning

The spires of the pine trees rise like steeples.  A choir of insects hums the prelude.  The birds offer a morning anthem. .  The breezy breath of the wind stirs the trees to praise. The dome of the sky is a shelter of blue and white; the sun shines brighter than any candles.  And God is present.

 

Later, I will go to church, and there will be a steeple and music and praise and candles.  And God will be there, too.

 

I am reminded of a song taught to us in a long-ago Sunday School class:  

 

Over the ground is a mat of green;

Over the green, the dew;

Over the dew are the arching trees;

Over the trees, the blue.

Dotting the blue are the scudding clouds.

Over the clouds, the sun;

Over the sun is the love of God,

Brooding us everyone.

Morning Sounds

 The dog’s big yawn

The cat demanding breakfast

 

Two crows and a quail having a conversation

 

Quiet breeze in the pine trees

 

Raindrops plopping on the tin roof of the shed

 

Cars and trucks, traffic on the road, carrying folks to work

 

Big yellow busses, full of children I can’t hear but can imagine -- some rowdy and ready for the day, others still bed-rumpled and sleepy

 

The lawn mower

 

My neighbor’s hen announcing an egg

 

Dogs barking far away

 

The horse greeting me, or more likely, his bucket of feed

 

And under it all, the gentle hum of a thousand unseen insects, greeting the day