Three October Fragments--Meaning, Love?

1)

Along the trail yesterday our son pointed out how towering stalks of unharvested corn were

still holding firm to October soil with slender tendril-ed fingers around their base

and today I said

the watery reflection of the tentacled limbs of a dead tree in a dammed pond we stood and gazed in awe of looked so like the grasping corn

and I could see the corn field as a pond of dead limbed trees caught in a floodplain of modern agriculture

or the tree in its watery beaver pond grave as one lone stalk of grasping corn

and somehow in my mind this

seemed to say that when life feels like it's got you in a stranglehold drowning you

your death is

every bit an illusion you fearfully try to make sense of

like the loss of control which you never really had to begin with

but the breath can go out of you

just the same

if you don't be careful to breathe in the tangle's midst

and so I breathe intentionally releasing

meaning making for a while

because sometimes you learn the hard way that some things just can't make sense

and

because to me meaning making in this culture

is too often connecting the dots that someone else has drawn for you

and you don't like to draw straight lines

or trying like mad to scrub away the dots someone else drew without your permission

and so maybe you try to stipple your own but you are a writer

not an artist so then you have to

try to like what you've drawn

as though

that somehow might become possible

if you just try hard enough

grasping

releasing

2)

I walk because in trying times

walking in nature

roots me in something so much more than myself

connecting me to images

reminding me of important things

like this too shall pass

but

with it goes the good and bad both of these beautiful

these difficult moments

and so I look to beauty to hold my hand and guide me

while I try to create meaning, step by step, in a world gone mad

I say things to my family like

Let's go pick a bouquet of pearly everlasting to make a fragrant autumn wreath that we can smell in wintertime and remember sweet moments like these sunslanted moments of now

and I truly believe its power when I say it while

other times are maybe more like this:

I pause and name all the different species of yellow flowers

I see on one trail walk

count seven

and thank my lucky stars that I have legs to walk me there and eyes to see them

and a strange mind which wants to note all this in gratitude for the gift of their quiet

their simple presence

connecting

3)

fleeting

vibrant

late bloom of Golden Rod shines

whilst older blooms have greyed and softened to scatter their seed

faded yet beautiful still

Giant Mullein tender trailside guardian of Queen Anne's Lace

stands tall, gentle like

you say you love me still

no matter what

and part of me really wants to believe it

because you deserve my belief

and because

we stand rooted in life's storms like wildflowers blowing in the wind

held in the illusion and temporal wonder of such moments

and then

a fish jumps out of the pond to catch an insect

the spell is broken but a perfection

of concentric circles form.

Isn't this enough?

Thanks for reading.

Be well,

Jill