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Thursday, October 10, 2013

Poem: Mary Oliver's "Song for Autumn"

In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the 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
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.


  1. Mary Oliver crafts her words so carefully that I am gently drawn totally into the scene and experience the feelings of the leaves and the trees and the firewood. Thank you for sharing this on a beautiful autumn morning in Canada.

    1. I just think of gently tumbling leaves.

      Happy Thanksgiving Day weekend to you.

    2. John, thank you for recognizing our Thanksgiving. That is very kind of you.

    3. I like having it in October because it is really a month of harvest, but I love the November holiday. November is my favorite month.