autumn
-
November
Big questions, profound and eternal, come to the fore these days. They’re questions that won’t be answered by any election, nor by what follows. They come—partial and suggestive—in whispers, the kind of whispers one can hear only in stillness. They’re the questions one may hear best in November, when the year’s fecundity has subsided, and… Continue reading
-
The call of the cicadas
Waiting, I noticed the midsummer sound of cicadas, their dry rasp foretelling summer’s finale and autumn’s approach, and soon after that, winter. Some find it a sad sound, herald of the season’s ending. I find it mellow comfort: an invitation to rest; to return to the earth, my source; to reground in what is more… Continue reading
-
The spiders remain
Sheryl and I have made a pilgrimage to Chautauqua Institution almost every summer since we’ve been married, staying a week or two on the grounds to soak in the arts and thoughts and imagination of the place and its people. We talk of going elsewhere some summer, but when the time comes to make reservations… Continue reading
