These days are not for now alone,
but for you to hold in memory’s store
for times when you need solace,
when peace eludes and the noise
of the world is a thundering din
to your ears. Let them remind you
that beneath all appearances
a harmony reigns, supreme
and gracious and supremely
full of wise and loving care.
What if it’s all some cosmic kaleidoscope,
and the Mysterious Intelligence is turning
the barrel, gazing at the jeweled patterns
as the eons go tumbling by? Galaxies spin,
stars are born and die, and on one little
globe, over there on the far edge, seasons
change and goldenrod glows in a field.
And the Mysterious Intelligence seeing
it all, the whole and every detail all at once,
breathes Yes, and every last bit of it
dances to the whispered song,
and sparkles in its love.
The gift that surpasses
the beauty of this flower,
with its delicate petals
drenched in such hues,
is your capacity to perceive
its beauty, and to sense,
somehow, that both
the seeing and the seen
arise from the ultimate
Autumn, the seasons’ king, rolls in
on balmy air. Along the roadside
wild sunflowers dance. On this grand day,
when day and night share equal parts of sky,
they sing in celebration. Now begins
the gathering in of all the fruits of the fields.
Now comes the quickening of cool mornings
and crisp air. Now comes the splendor
of the trees. Along the roadside
wild sunflowers dance, beaming their light
and their welcome.
“It’s the last day of summer,”
I say to people at random—
store clerks, friends.
“Oh good! Enough of this heat!”
they reply. I am alone, it seems,
in my sadness at its passing.
I note that I feel this way
at each season’s end, being
so filled with gratitude
for its beauty. And then
the next one comes, with splendors
of its own, quickly winning
my heart. I go to the butterly
garden to say my private farewell.
A monarch comes to settle
on the last of the zinnias,
then joins two others and they
merrily flutter away in a tumble
of summer orange.
Wordlessly, the blossoms speak
to all of us, regardless of our nationalities
or the amount of pigmentation in our skin.
They know no division. They give
themselves freely, singing joy
to every heart, wanting nothing
but to beam the gladness of being,
to fill the dark places with light,
to prove that the recognition
of beauty is universal, to unite
us in the celebration of a knowing
that knows no borders. Open to them;
hear their gentle joy. Let it sing to you
its comfort and its unbounded Yes.
Summer leaves us, flaming.
Here, a token of my sun
for you to hold until
I come again. Here,
my life-force in its fullness,
blazing its radiance
into your heart. Here,
my promise of light
to carry you through
the darkness. Here,
my love, until we meet
When you’re zipping along
at fifty miles an hour,
it all becomes a blur,
a homogenized impression:
goldenrod, green, gray skies.
The details elude you—
the narrow, rippled stream,
the variegated textures
of the foliage, the way the leaves
are beginning to turn and fall.
It’s like all of life. You need
to slow down now and then,
to pause and take it in
if you’re going to reap
its treasures. And oh,
the reward, just for stopping
now and then, to see.
Keep your options open.
Learn to listen to your intuition,
to keep your sense of adventure honed.
Be ready to turn down unexplored paths,
to find unexpected treasures.
You never know what you might find.
Be open. Walk in anticipation
of delight. This is the way
To my surprise, the shore
of the mid-September lake
is covered with flowers—
wild periwinkle asters, orange
jewel weed, pale orchid-like
shooting stars of some kind, and
others whose names I don’t know.
It is morning, and they still wear
shimmering dew and look as if
they were painted with light.
Their colors touch my center.
I feel as if I’ve fallen into a
magical world, another dimension,
and oh, the sound of their singing!