Good morning!
It’s Sunday, and it’s time for our annual reading of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Song for Autumn.” To help set the stage, I’ve taken us down the long dirt road to the top of the field that leads to the bay.
Here, in the warmth of the dappled sunlight, we can watch the leaves fall and listen to the sounds of the waves, the buoy, and the great beyond.
“Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look forthe birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.”—Mary Oliver
Onwards,
Clara
p.s.—To my knitting and crochet friends, we’re having a free Knit Stars live-screening party this afternoon at 4pm EDT. You can meet this season’s teachers, see clips and bloopers (yikes!), and get a sense of what Knit Stars is all about.
