Monday Morning Musings:
“Autumn poses the question we all have to live with: How to hold on to the things we love even though we know that we and they are dying. How to see the world as it is, yet find light within that truth.”
–Pico Iyler, Autumn Light: Season of Fire and Farewells, quoted in Brainpickings
In the transitional spaces
of this liminal season,
sun and moon both hold their places
easing in

Morning moon over the river.
the days of swoops and shifts
where sunshine fires gold and red
and nature bewitches with magic gifts–
deer and birds, the leaves unshed
to glow in sunshine, that perfect light
too soon hidden behind the grey
of clouds, and we trudge but fight
the winter’s-coming-wind. “Stay!”
we say to sunshine and golden glow
as we struggle through “the wind tunnel of death”
in rush hour city streets, go with the flow,
see, not so bad, we catch our breath

and onward go, sunshine, then rain
and I work, cook, bake, turn on the heat
to be certain it works, for frigid air comes again
and soon winter winds will roar, and we’ll retreat
not wanting to venture out so long or often
but yet we’ll have to carry on, do what we must
and with blankets, soup, and candles, soften
the cold (and in the dimness hide the dust).
But for now, we walk and celebrate
the accomplishments, good weather, and walk
through parks, a restaurant, a concert—a date
I suppose, we listen to the other couples talk

at other tables and speculate
about their lives. Then we move on—
the concert late into the night, but great
and soon comes another dawn
and more rain. A grey afternoon
my mom nods off to the TV
I make her laugh as I dance to a tune–
Que sera, what will be, will be,
not what we hear, but inevitably
transition lead to something new
leaves fall, rivers flow to the sea,
winter grey and white follows from autumn blue,

but now we watch a French demon on our screen
drink wine and gasp at horror in a world not real
enjoy the make-believe land of the unseen
even as we long for something ideal, feel

unmoored in this world, waiting for disaster
but finding moments of joy to savor
wanting some to slow, some to move faster—
what is the flavor
the scent, of time passing and flowing?
Cinnamon, nutmeg, lilacs, and rain
petrichor rising, snow falling, and fires blowing
smoke into the air—all these over and over again–
as cats play hide and seek,
and children now grown send love in photos,
and each week brings something good or bleak—
and so it goes.
In the liminal spaces
of this liminal season,
the moon hums, traces
her course, she has a reason

even if we don’t know why,
(what questions to ask, the answers unknown)
but hush, hear that sigh?
Listen closely, the moon’s lullaby.

It’s been a crazy week with emotions blowing like the crazy winds. One deadline met, another still to go. We went to a concert at the Scottish Rite Auditorium, David Bromberg and Los Lobos. My husband joked that you had to be over 50 to get in–but wow–those musicians can play! We walked from the theater to Indiya restaurant and then back. We’re watching a horror show on Netflix called Marianne. One episode to go. It definitely made me jump a few times. It’s in French. Sorry, movie club fans, that’s the best I can do right now. I hope to get to the movies soon.