Sedum is a Perennial Plant with thick, succulent leaves, fleshy stems, and clusters of pink-red Star-Shaped Flowers.
The heading of this post And Now It’s September, (creative comma included), shares a title with verses crafted by Pennsylvania poet Barbara Crooker, and was published in a recent issue of Spillway. Every Monday morning, Ted Kooser, United States Poet Laureate from 2004-2006, e-mails me a poem on behalf of American Life in Poetry, prompted by past visits to Chicago’s Poetry Foundation . “We’re entering a new kind of autumn,” said Mr. Kooser’s introduction . “This one arrives after months & months when everything was new & strange, and offered very little but bad news for the future. All spring and summer parents wondered, can a country have autumn without buses full of students laughing together? Although the fortunes of people can’t be predicted, nature can be. Or some of it can.”
True. Mankind’s current wild card status considered, in today’s world, even the future of the earth itself as well as the processes that manage the phenomena of the material world appear disturbingly uncertain. “But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last blast of color”, reads a line below, bringing to mind the bright star flowers of our garden’s Sedum or “Stonecrop”, beloved by pollinators everywhere and abuzz with bee-kind. We’ll continue finding beauty and taking comfort in the forces of the natural world at this weekend’s Full-Day Fall Foraging Workshop with Anthony Michael Blowers. Although all seats for the Wild Forest to Table Dinner have been filled, workshop attendance remains open and dorm room beds available. For those hoping to tap the benefits of mindfulness and establish a regular meditation practice, there’s our Wednesday (Get Over The) Hump Day Noon Meditation sit, our semi-monthly, three-hour Meditation and Mindfulness 101 class for those hoping to learn a little more, and our upcoming Fall 2020 Noble Silence Meditation Retreat the first weekend in October, a deep quarterly dive into the practice pool. Remember, the effort we make on retreat is always self-determined, and just experiencing our simplified, beautified environment is good for whatever ails ya, as we all pass patiently from summer through Autumn’s gate.
And Now It’s September,
and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled
and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse
on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last
blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant
asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving
in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes.
The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed
in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days
are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck
and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle
in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly,
they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate,
and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits
patiently in a long, long line.
