A Melancholy Splendor

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A melancholy splendor comes
when autumn chills,

and green begins to bleed,

and red and gold

and russet runs the hills...

when all that grows

is gathered in the fields

and orchard rows

to be busheled up,

pressed and poured out,

or left alone to seep
in the fallen tea of earth...

when gardens go to seed,

and bursting milkweed

begs for second birth
by letting go the withered pod
to haunt the meadows

and the markers

on the old church lawn
where, but for lonely shadows,

all summer shade is gone

in the melancholy splendor

of the fall.

© Copyright 2007, TK, Patterns of Ink

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A few hours ago, our streets heard the last of trick-or-treaters, and October came to an end one porch light at a time. This was the mildest, warmest autumn I recall in my lifetime with average temps in the 70's, which delayed the color fest by a few weeks and muted the typical brilliance of west Michigan landscape. Not until last weekend did leaves began to fall, and the first trees to turn are now bare. As always, the towering oaks around my house will be the last to let go, so we'll still be raking around Thanksgiving.

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I know from reading around my favorite blogs that fall is on many people's minds, and I also notice that many of the bloggers I know share a touch of melancholy this time of year. I seem to revel in fall's beauty but wrestle with the finality of all that began in spring.

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I've always struggled a little with this. I love the peak of seasons: the deep and drifting snow, the lush green of spring, the splash of waves in the summer, and the colors and crisp cold of fall... but I must deliberately keep my spirits up in the "empty in between" of the seasons, those gray, non-descript days.

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Once all the leaves have fallen each year, I eagerly await the snow to come and cover the "blah" of November.

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In the next chapter of our story, we'll see that my mother has this same feeling about the fall (which is probably where I get it). She and Dad will be very happy about the news they get from Dr. Licker as summer ends, but more than the season changes as others learn that Mom and Dad will have a baby in April.

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Note: Between the lines of " A Melancholy Splendor" are hints of the relationships between life and death, harvest and labor, the garden and weeds (nurture vs. nature), beauty and decay, and hope and despair in the fall (by playing on the word as both a season and a theological term). Since childhood, I've been fascinated by Milkweed. Its life cycle is very dramatic from beginning to end when it seems to "give up its ghosts" to the wind. Its scientific name comes from Asclepius, the Greek god of healing. Milkweed also plays a "life and death" role in the life cycle of monarch butterflies.