Can You Hear Me Now

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

Hal Borland

Minnesotans like to joke that if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. While that isn’t exactly true, I have seen it go from summer to fall practically overnight. This late in the season it can be 90 and oppressively humid on a Monday and 54 and sweater weather by Wednesday. Not quite five minutes, but far faster than this Arizona boy can process.

Over the years, I have spent a lot of poetic currency on the changing seasons. I find myself deep in contemplation when summer slides into winter or when spring rises up from the slushy piles of winter snow. It’s the differences that catch my attention. One thing is not like the other and the in-between space draws me in and holds me close.

Unlike my typical Monday pondering missive on life, today I am going to dig into the past and pull out a few poems (with a few updates as to where I am now in life) that capture this infatuation with transformation. While we haven’t officially turned the corner into fall we are close enough to feel its rumbling. The sumac leaves are already turning red and the early bird maples are showing the laggards what’s in their future. This is a time of movement and I want to stay mindful during the transition.

There is nothing permanent except change. Heraclitus

Contrary to Freud’s observation that “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” you would be correct if you thought to yourself, “Andrew is writing about more than the weather.” That’s the beauty of poetry, isn’t it? A falling leaf lends itself to quite a few aspects of the human experience. Nature reflects who we are and where we are going.

Fun fact: I grew up in the Arizona desert and had very little understanding of the seasons. It was hot in the summer and less hot in the winter. Snow was something I saw in movies and photographs and my concept of autumn colors was brown grass. Moving to Minnesota in 1983 was a shock to the system and it took me several years to understand my new reality. I have learned that even the good things in life are hard to assimilate when they feel so foreign.

Take from these words whatever it is that catches your fancy. Let your imagination run wild. That’s what I would do. It’s also okay to sit back and let the autumn breezes carry you to your own favorite change of season memories. I would do that, too.

Thank you for reading.

Lost in These Autumn Breezes

It’s something in the air
like the scent of lilacs on summer winds
or the first bite of frost on an early October morning

I walk alone step by step
allowing the world to wash over me
opening my mind to the ambiguous and the elusive
giving myself permission to question and wonder

With each breath comes new reminders of days gone by
and a day yet to live
of an uncertain future
lost in these autumn breezes

Summer’s Last Kiss

I feel the taste of summer’s last kiss
a fond farewell
a sad good-bye
her warm embrace wears scarlet wings
riding retreat on cool Autumn breezes

Indian Summer

Is it the last patch of warmth following a deep autumn frost
or the glow of a sun hanging low in the southern sky
is it the crackle of dry leaves
as they are raked into multicolored piles
the mournful honking of geese high overhead

Or is it me and my silly puddle heart
longing for a time and place
when every day held the magic and wonder of an Indian Summer

The In-Between

As the summer sun settles deep into the southern sky
and the winds of last August taunt and tease
like a confused virgin that can’t make up her mind

As the days compress
and the fingers of night
lengthen and grow
I find myself caught in the in-between
of seasons
of life
of what was before and what will be

A slow and pondering transition
from then to now
still shadowed and hazy

Between Seasons

It’s late September and I am between seasons
ever mindful of winter
the cicada’s cry has taken on a strange reverence
as each fading bloom becomes a temple of summer

Soon the leaves will be down
and the branches will be bare
soon the warm hills of green
will become cold, lifeless breasts of snow

I am between seasons
and like love that holds on to the dying embers of passion’s fire
I take pleasure in small gestures of hope and delight
I am between seasons
and seek the strength to see my way to the other side

I Pause

After the hot-breath gasp of August
but before the turning of the leaves
when the north wind whispers of icicle fingers
and the onslaught of winter
when the sun begins to loosen her fiery grip
sinking increasingly lower with each passing day

I pause

I pause to soak in every last atom of summer
left lying in fields where baseballs were thrown
on playgrounds where children laughed and shrieked
on lakes, rivers, and streams
where anglers would cast and reel
cast and reel
in parks where young lovers would tumble and roll

Every stray grain of summer on the bare-legged
bare-armed
bare-chested
I pause to draw into me
enough light, fortitude, and brave-face
to keep me sunlit and warm
until the coming of spring

War Paint

The autumn colors rise up from the earth
like a volcano, they spew across the land for as far as any eye can see
the reds and golds
the browns and yellows
war paint on the faces of the trees prepared for winter’s onslaught

A battle they are destined to lose
yet ordained to fight again forever

The September Side of Goodbye

We were good to each other, weren’t we
careless and carefree, spontaneous
we were lovers that knew no boundaries
we were friends through good times and bad

But now the light has lessened
as darkness chips away at both ends of day
no longer does the sun wrap herself around me
and my eyes strain to find you
through the black shroud of night

I have always struggled with goodbyes
so let this be fare thee well
the ice will melt
the shadows will succumb to the light
and we will love again
one sunny summer day

Mulberry Juice

I am forever stained by you
on fingertips and lips
down my chin where you spilled from my mouth
dark, sweet, and fragrant

I taste my fingers and I taste you
I run my tongue over my teeth and find you there
I find you everywhere

My lungs are filled with your scent
my ears your song
and in my heart I burn with the love
of a hot and sticky
distant summer day