little red sumac

i rode by this little sumac plant and it called out "hey!"

so i hammered on my bicycle's brakes and turned back

and it said "what?

am i not good enough for a picture?

well, what about this:"

"or this!"

"or this!"

"oh my sweet" i replied, "i imagine the great grandchildren of the monarch butterflies who rested on your crimson fingers just weeks ago are talking about you in their little mexican valley.

the deer eating the sweet white oak acorns across that field are thinking back to the last time they passed you under a similarly blue and cloudless sky.

the painted turtle who crossed from the marsh just behind you to the little pond on the other side of this path is singing a little song to himself

about the girl turtle he left behind.

the one who lived just back of the crimson sumac."

"yes my treasure, you're famous without even trying."

the shimmering air

little flakes

of gold leaf

fall from the trees

drift

through the air

landing

face-up

in the deep blue

slow moving water

and wend their way

down river

to the sea

where they

wash up

on a waterworn

pebbled shore

to be slowly worked

into the softest golden dust

and carried aloft

on a shimmering zephyr

a chance encounter

rocks in a tree's arms -

the story

as near as i can tell

is that

the tree

fractured near its base

in a long past storm

and gathered something

of the earth

into its fold

as part of it fell

it's in my heart to say that they were brought together

it's in my head to wonder

as i imagine the stories they are sharing

~

i am reminded of the zen learning

in "not the wind, not the flag"

from the gateless gate, by ekai

~

two monks were arguing about a flag. one said: "the flag is moving."

the other said: "the wind is moving."

the sixth patriarch happened to be passing by. he told them:

"not the wind, not the flag; mind is moving."

learnings

what could i learn

from the redness of this red -

that beauty can be so simple

and so profound

what could i learn

from the multiplicity of these leaves -

that true generosity

is the simplest grace

what could i learn

from the simplicity of this plant's presence -

that real knowledge

comes through understanding my place

in the all of everything

the woman tree

see how

her body

births the roots

whose woven

and splintered threads

will bring her sustenance

and hold her

to the ground

when the winds, the slanting rains,

and the weight of snow

threaten to close

the cycle of her existence

see

how she is so much

like you and i

this one's

for dan who loves the trees

and knows how filled with wisdom they really are

the evening sun

the evening sun

the roof above the tops of the summer weeds becomes

entirely hidden.

though until just now children were sticking their faces

from the doorway

they have all become invisible.

at my back

the town gradually becomes smaller.

everything everywhere is no more than the play of lights

and shadows.

nobuo ayukawa

return to forever

when i return to forever

may the circle be closed

and the spiral be broader

words excerpted from "forever oneness" by bee lake

older and away

on a path

littered

with pine needles

and dancing leaves

stopping

in the shade of a tree

whose leaves are falling

one-by-one

i feel an echo

in the hazy

internal landscape

of my thoughts

as my children

grow older

and away

the little red leaf

i try to remember when time's measure

painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing

to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever

in these momentary pastures.

words excerpted from "fall song" by mary oliver

the first light

trying to be thoughtful in the first light of dawn

i am thinking, or trying to think, about all the

imponderables for which we have

no answers, yet endless interest all the

range of our lives, and it's

good for the head no doubt to undertake such

meditation; mystery, after all,

is God's other name, and deserves our

consideration surely. but, but -

excuse me now, please; it's morning, heavenly bright,

and my irrepressible heart begs me to hurry on

into the next exquisite moment.

mary oliver

so simple

in the autumn

it's the really small

the little things

the moments

that complete the sentence

with an exclamation mark

so simple, these images,

their recognition

is in our nature,

yet too often neglected,

our eyes already elsewhere.

it is beyond the gods

why we hold onto our sorrows

so long, and so stubborn.

excerpted from "these images" by wang ping

don't fade away

i walked 'round my garden this morning to see the various stages of letting go that my plants are experiencing.

the hostas are spectacular in their decay -

each leaf surrounded by a golden halo in the vivid bright light of this october morning.

the words of brendan perry entered my mind as i photographed this beautiful plant:

"don't fade away my brown-eyed girl,

come walk with me, i'll fill your heart with joy,

and we'll dance through our isolation

seeking solace in the wisdom we bestow,

turning thoughts to the here and ever after,

consuming fears in our fiery halos."

oh my girl

i know you're still in there

somewhere well beyond

your pale yellow leaves

your dried stalks

like the skin

on the back of my hand

gently wrinkled

and veined

so many acts of kindness

and goodness

contained and waiting

in their frail mortality

you can hear brendan's words sung here:

you can read the words of brendan perry "don't fade away"

begin

on a day

of falling leaves

and soaring inner spirit

a golden thread

of sunlight

holds the multi-hued tapestry of it

all together

following this golden thread

across the landscape of the day

i come across

the wonder of green

in a clearing

where

somehow a sward of grass

has been overlooked

almost as if it is beginning

rather than ending

and standing on the improbable

emerald ribbon

bathed in the warmth

of the mid-autumn sun

i am so glad

to be here

now

because very soon

very soon

it will be hidden

begin

this is now. now is,

all there is. don't wait for then;

strike the spark, light the fire.

sit at the beloved's table,

feast with gusto, drink your fill

then dance

the way branches

of jasmine and cypress

dance in a spring wind.

the green earth

is your cloth;

tailor your robe

with dignity and grace.

rumi

the hermitage

i have come, before i know it, upon an ancient hermitage,

the thatch door, the piney path, the solitude, the quiet,

where a hermit lives and moves, never needing a companion

words by meng haoran

a moment's breath

in the sudden brightness

of a bowl of sunlight

the very faintly glowing

red of a fallen sumac branch

no wind

and no sound

reach this still and silent place

burning leaves

the orange-brown scent

of burning leaves

a sweet and gentle smell

filled with spring frosts

and birdsong

the thrumming of sap

rising to the heat

of a summer day

the red and gold

of early autumn

now curling

into pure white ash

and slowly rising

on a slender thermal

that wraps itself around

the mother tree

on its journey

to the sky

equal to nothingness

i do not know

what a human being must do.

i do not know

what a human being should try to get.

i think

that a human being can become part of nature.

i am feeling

that a human being is great because he is equal to

nothingness.

oh i am shaken,

how hopeful to be equal to nothingness!

words by kotaru takamura

the drifting innocence

shadow on the earth

flowing waves

of the drifting innocence

words excerpted from "wanting to be walking among crowds" by sakutaro hagiwara

close to the earth

kneeling

on a deep bed

of soft brown pine needles

the soft fingers of

a warm breeze

touch my face

with the cinnamon tang

of the autumn woods

close to the earth

the great cycles

are simply expressed

contained in small

ripe spaces

a clearing

i sat for some time

by the remains of this ancient tree

a year has passed

since i last listened to his stories

there's no doubt i am older

for more of his stories

make sense to me now

still

in the trees

the soft warm music of the wind

on the forest floor

a stillness

and a slow returning

was there ever

everything in silence

the deepest place

like pages of a book

leaves

flutter

in the warm wind

a place of hushed golden stars

like faces

like hands

the morning dream of life

so bright and soft is the sweet air of morning,

it brings them all to being when it touches

with its paleness every glowing vein;

the wild and flaming hollows of the forest

kindle all their crimson in its rain;

and every curve receives its share of morning,

every little shadow softly grows,

and motion finds a melody more tender

and quiet in its giving, as though love,

the morning dream of life, were born of longing,

and really poured its being from above.

all words by max eastman excerpted from "autumn light"

evening in my eyes

the billows which cradled the image of the sky

mingled, in a solemn, mystical way

the omnipotent chords of their rich harmonies

with the sunsets' colours reflected in my eyes

words from "my past life" by charles baudelaire

all that's there

the sky's song is sometimes thin

and at the end of a day

mumbled words

are all it can share

or all i can hear

closing the space

spiritually

surefooted and kind

her words

curled like smoke

around my heart

her mouth

opened abysses

of sensation

that were as bottomless

as they were boundless

cravings being what they are

her mouth became more

to me

than

her words

you see her words

offered little comfort

little solace

no reassurance

that even when my heart's eyes

closed

i could still see

they were lacking that inner sense

that it would be alright

to feel her in my hands

and nowhere else

and so i came to hope

for that great space

uncluttered by expectation

and i was prepared

to pay almost any price

to feel the walls

come tumbling down

and sense the press of her mouth

against mine

which

if she’d been a book

would’ve been

like reading the last page first

and so it all

ended

even as it began

with a glance

across a room

a wish to close the space

by opening another

a leaving

as brave

and unlikely

as the arrival.

painting by tom trythall rowe "overtures"

sail to me

i remember buying this disc so many years ago that really it leaves me wondering "what one earth",

but time flies when . . . . anyhow i heard it in my head yesterday and thought i'd have a look see on youtube and sure enough there it was.

what really caught my attention though is the number of hits it has -

over a million and a half.

now i know that "this mortal coil" were sort of well-known and this particular song did very well, but not that much . . . and then i noticed a reference in a comment to "the lovely bones" and thought "ah ha!"

it was rediscovered and dropped on a soundtrack. i've not seen the film.

the book is on one of my many little lists to be read at some point.

for now though i am having memories of a time a very long time ago in my life when i lived in a one bedroom apartment in toronto and this was a song that made its way frequently onto the turntable.

the words to song to the siren:

on the floating, shapeless oceans

i did all my best to smile

'til your singing eyes and fingers

drew me loving into your eyes.

and you sang "sail to me, sail to me;

let me enfold you."

here i am, here i am waiting to hold you.

did i dream you dreamed about me?

were you here when i was full sail?

now my foolish boat is leaning, broken love lost on your rocks.

for you sang, "touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow."

oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow.

i'm as puzzled as a newborn child.

i'm as riddled as the tide.

should i stand amid the breakers?

or shall i lie with death my bride?

hear me sing: "swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you."

"here i am. here i am, waiting to hold you."

first frost

the gauzy edge

of her breath

whispers remorse

even as the touch of her lips

transmutes

their emerald hands

into tumbling prayer flags