Fall is my favorite time of year. Many a more eloquent poet has pieced together beautifully the words to describe the essence of autumn. It is a thoughtful, "romantic" time of year as my friend Melanie Fox says. So I will not attempt to capture with words what my senses try to capture as each precious day of fall slips by; but I do want to share some of the thoughts that swirl through my head like leaves on Riverside Drive. Fall makes me think of my brother Steve - more than usual. This is for several reasons - his birthday is October 7th, he loves pumpkin pie, and he is extra busy in the fall with extra cows to milk, crops to harvest, and he likes the chilly weather. So this poem is for my brother - one of my very favorite people and a true blessing from God.
The Man Born to Farming by Wendell Berry
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
Descending in the dark?
1 comment:
Nice tribute
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